Over the Garden Wall - A Novelization
by RoanokeMendoza
Summary: No fancy crossovers or original stories. This is just a straight-forward novelization of Cartoon Network's new animated classic, Over the Garden Wall. No less, but with possibly just a little bit more.
1. Into the Unknown

CHAPTER 1: Into the Unknown

October 31st, 1984. Far away in India, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had just been assassinated by her two bodyguards; Deadly riots and chaos would ensue in the coming days. Closer to home, President Ronald Reagan was less than a week away from his landslide reelection over Walter Mondale. Lastly, being Halloween Night, millions of children were donning costumes and heading out for a night of fun, mischief, and free candy. There was, however, one 15 year-old boy who wasn't concerned with these or any other happenings going on in the world. He had problems of his own.

Wirt sat anxiously upon his bed, staring aimlessly about his room. An unusually bright and cultured boy for his age, Wirt was sensibly dressed in a collared shirt which hid under a dull orange sweater. The ensemble was tastefully accented with simple slacks which were held by suspenders. His hair was gray-brown like hickory bark, and despite being several inches long, it retained the shape of his widow's peak. Currently, his face was wearing an expression of desperate worry.

The boy began pacing around his room with his hands clasped behind his back, his socks scuffing over red-orange shag carpeting. Wirt's room contained a plethora of items which reflected his interest both past & present: books on architecture and interior design, a model train set, the clarinet he played for his school's symphonic band, a poster of a black turtle, and so on. The object of Wirt's interest right now was a cassette recorder. He first gazed upon it sadly, then with anger, and reached forward to poke at the machine's eject button. Out popped a beige tape with a crimson label which read "FOR SARA."

Wirt yanked a couple feet of the slender tape out from its plastic shell and threw it all to the wall where it unceremoniously landed on the shaggy floor. The youth sighed at the mess, but then confidence suddenly welled from within him. He retrieved the tape and spooled it back into shape with a pencil. _Tonight is the night! _He thought. But first he needed a costume.

Wirt snooped around the attic and slowly cobbled together the components for a Halloween costume; a stiff, pointy red elf's hat from Christmas with the white trim removed; a blue Union cloak from a Civil War costume he had worn a couple years ago; and finally some oddly mismatched boots of black and gray respectively. Wirt removed his sweater, but kept his suspended slacks and white shirt. When put together it made . . . well, Wirt wasn't sure what exactly he was wearing, but he called it good enough. The youth stepped onto his front porch, which was adorned with pumpkin decorations, and clutched the cassette tightly in his hand.

"Into the unknown. . . ." he declared aloud.

* * *

><p>Wednesday night was game night for the local high school's football team, the Hornets. The dozens of spotlights which circled the field cast their bright, unforgiving illumination upon the immediate area. While all eyes from the spectator's stands were on the game, Wirt stood behind a metal fence with his eyes glued on the school mascot, Harry Hornet. The mascot danced a spirited jig to the tune of the marching band for the cheering fans and players. Wirt only gripped at the fence tighter, a loving smile on his face, for he knew the person underneath the cover of that hornet costume: Sara.<p>

Oh how Wirt pined for Sara. How he had spent so many days gazing at her from afar, and would undoubtedly spend many more days to come. They were acquaintances and seemed to be on friendly terms, but Wirt desired so much more from Sara and just mere friendship. He loved her kindness, and wished he could know her better so he could experience her kind words every day. He adored her smooth cocoa skin, yearning to feel it against his own. Oh! And if only he could stroke his hand through her silky, raven hair. He-

"Goodbyyyyeeee! Thank you Old Lady Daniels! " came the voice of a young boy from behind Wirt, interrupting his inner musings.

"Goodbye Gregory." An old woman with a rake in-hand waved as the young boy walked backwards, waving back a her. "And please don't call me old lady!"

"Yes sir, young man!" he returned in the most chipper tone possible.

Greg was Wirt's half-brother. About half Wirt's age, the boy was the product of his mom and step-father. Sometimes when Wirt looked at Greg he was reminded of quite harsh times so many years ago, when the divorce between his mom and first dad finally came. Not that Wirt disliked Greg, quite the opposite in fact, it's just that sometimes Wirt couldn't hold back thoughts of what might a have been if things could have worked out with his own father and mother. In contrast, Greg had an eternally optimistic and care-free way of approaching life, and Wirt secretly envied that about Greg, wishing he could be a little more like him.

"Hey Wirt, whacha doin'?" asked Greg as he backed up to his brother.

Wirt glanced at Greg. The boy was currently dressed in gray overalls with a small leather satchel slung to his side and his face was covered in scatches and yard debris. He also appeared to be wearing the family's aluminum teapot upside-down upon his head. "Nothing." Wirt replied dolefully.

"I was helpin' Old Lady Daniels rake some leaves in exchange for _candy_!" Greg pulled some wrapped sweets out from his overalls.

"Greg, it's Halloween . . . candy is free."

Greg defiantly placed his fists onto his hips. "Old Lady Daniels says nothing in this world is free." Wirt only grimaced and then turned his attention back to Sara.

The younger brother then pulled a round object with a sort of clown's face painted on it from his satchel. "Oh, hey, and look! I also got this rock . . . HEY WIRT, WANNA LEARN SOME ROCK FACTS?" Greg asked in the deepest voice he could muster. Wirt said nothing so Greg returned the stone to his satchel. "So, you wanna go look for frogs with me like you said you would a while ago and haven't done it yet?

"Nah, I'm busy."

Greg turned to notice the object of Wirt's fixation. "Is that bee named Sara?"

"W-what?"

"Your tape says 'For Sara.' Are you gonna give it to Sara the bee?"

"I-I want to, but. . ." Wirt stumbled out, then sighing, "I can't."

Greg held his hand out. "Can I see it?"

"Yeah." said Wirt as he handed away the cassette. "It's just a tape."

"Hmm! Yeah. Okay, I'll give it to her for you." Without warning, Greg skittered past the fence gate towards the football field with Wirt's tape in tow.

"Oh, Greg! W-Wait! No, no!"

Wirt's brother scampered into a trio of girls whom Wirt knew well: Kathleen, Rhondi, and Casey. Even though they were 'popular' girls, they were usually too busy putting each other down to insult other people, so Wirt and the girls usually got along well together with only minor difficulties. Tonight Kathleen wore a floral-print dress and pink bunny ears, Casey a cowgirl costume, and Rhondi, simply put, was a giant egg.

Kathleen was the first to spot Greg. "Oh look at you!" she squealed, gleefully throwing her arms to the air. "What are you supposed to be?"

"It's an elephant costume." Greg enthusiastically replied, then attempting an impression of an elephant's trumpeting. He also pointed to the teapot's spout. "See my trunk?"

"Yeah that's . . . cute." Kathleen said flatly.

"I'm an egg."

"Yeah, everyone knows you're an egg, Rhondi."

"Shut it, Kathleen."

"Whatever. So, Wirt," Kathleen said in a semi-mocking tone, "what are you supposed to be? Some kind of gnome?"

"I – I dunno. Well, see I was – I thought I'd just, like-"

"Hey, what's this?" Kathleen blurted upon see the tape in Greg's hands.

"That's Wirt's tape for Sara!" explained Greg. Wirt gasped in horror.

"OOH! Wirt loves Sara!" Kathleen then playfully waved the tape around. "You want us to give it to her for you?

Wirt defensive threw his hands out from under his blue cloak. "Uh, it's for a different Sara, not the one you're thinking about!"

"Yeah," Greg chirped, "Wirt's talking about Mascot Sara – the one he's been looking at all night."

As both Wirt and Casey looked on with mouths agape, Kathleen laughed while Rhondi sang, "Ooh! Wirt's got a crush on Sara!" The teasing halted and Rhondi addressed Wirt seriously. "Well, you better act fast, 'cause we heard Jason Funderberker is gonna ask her out at the Halloween party tonight.

Wirt heard this and all his organs twisted into one massive knot in an instant. "Jason Funderberker?" he exclaimed.

"Yeah." Wirt could only stammer out gibberish at this point. "You okay, Wirt?" asked Rhondi.

"Yeah," Wirt said falsely, holding his arms up in surrender. "Everything's . . . Everything's Jason Funderberker!"

"What?" said all three confused girls at once.

Wirt held his arms out even further, his eyes darting about wildly. "Uh, uh, Jason Funderberker. I-I gotta go." Wirt backed away from the girls with a face which displayed total defeat.

Greg followed after him. "Bye!"

* * *

><p>The first quarter moon watched stoically over the trick-or-treaters on this night. The left face of the globe hid itself in shadow, while its bright right face offered its guiding light. A certain rain-slick street refused the moon-light, reflecting it back to its source. An old stone wall, older than anyone alive today, also lined the street. Age had forced the wall to slink from its once-straight posture, and an old Oak tree grew through its heart – not dissimilar to Wirt who dejectedly paraded beside it.<p>

_Jason Funderberker!_ He kept repeating those words in his mind. To Wirt, Jason Funderberker had it all. He wore suits. He has a trust fund . . . or at least Wirt assumed that. He had charisma through the roof. Everybody loved Jason Funderberker, and now he too was going after Wirt's beloved Sara. How could Wirt possibly compete? Wirt didn't answer that, for he knew the fact was he couldn't be a worthy rival to Funderberker.

The youth found himself reciting a soliloquy – something he did often whenever he was frustrated. "Is the dove never to meet the sea for want of the odious mountain?"

Greg skipped to his brother's side. "Hey. So . . . frog hunt?"

"Huh?"

"I keep hearing ribbiting around town, and I think it's the last frog of the season."

Wirt could only keep frowning. "No, I just want to wallow in misery. . . Sara and Jason Funderberker. Ugh!" He then raised his hands in disgust. "That guy's got his act together. He's the total package! I can't compete."

"You're the total package too, Wirt. I bet she'll really like your tape."

Wirt slapped his hands to his temples and gasped. "We never got the tape back! I can't let her hear that tape!"

"Why not?"

Wirt knelt down to his brother and placed his hands atop Greg's shoulders, his voice growing more shrill as he spoke. "That tape has got poetry and clarinet on it, Greg. Poetry and clarinet! Sara and Jason Funderberker are gonna start dating, and then they'll hear that tape, and then they'll just sit and listen to it and laugh and laugh and laugh and la-"

"Why don't you ask Sara out first?" Greg interrupted. "That way-"

"No, no! Ugh! Why did you have to take the tape?" Wirt asked pleadingly. "My life is crumbling all around me!"

"Okay," said Greg in an unusually serious manner. "I think we should put our frog hunt on hold and go get that tape back."

Without another word the two brothers bolted back towards the football field. They arrived a couple minutes later, after the game was over, and were once again greeted by the trio of girls.

"Guys, where's the tape?" Wirt asked between heavy breaths.

They all smiled as Kathleen explained, "We put it in Sara's jacket for you." Wirt grasped at his pointed hat and yelped. "You better hurry, Wirt. She's changing in the track shack." Sensing Wirt's panic, she then proceeded to laugh.

"'Scuse me!" Wirt yelled as he shoved Rhondi aside. She and her bulky egg costume fell hard onto the grass.

The track shack lay in a quiet corner of the school's property beside the metal fence, with thick woods found even further beyond. To one side, various sports equipment like hurdles, mats, and posts were stowed. To the other other side was the coach's trailer beside which Jimmy, a football player with a broken & cast ankle, was having a relaxing conversation with his vampire-costumed girlfriend. Wirt paid those two no mind as he beelined for Sara's blue sport jacket which hung on the side of the shack. Wirt groped around at the jacket and Jimmy immediately took notice.

"Hey! Are you trying to spy on Sara?"

"Uh, no . . . Run, Greg!" The two took shelter within a third building, the nearby restrooms. Wirt peaked around the edge just in time to see Sara exit the shack.

Sara had changed from her mascot costume into her second one for the night, the 'skull clown' costume. Sara and Wirt had discussed costumes a few days earlier. While Wirt had nothing planned at the time, Sara was very excited for hers, and told Wirt she was really looking forward to having him see it, though Wirt couldn't imagine why. It was a simple fare of a baggy polka-dot jumpsuit and white & black facepaint covering her normally dark skin. In a weird way, right now Sara looked more beautiful than ever to Wirt.

"Hey Sara, be careful, huh?" said Jimmy as Sara donned her jacket and Eval Knieval bike helmet. "There's some real creeps out there tonight."

"Thanks, Jimmy." she said with a smile. She mounted her red bicycle and quickly rode off.

* * *

><p>Wirt and Greg followed Sara as best as they could on foot, which was surprisingly well. They ran past dozens of houses decorated splendidly for the night. They strode in views of the watchful eyes of jack-o-lanterns with a myriad faces, their candlelight flickering in the autumn breeze. Trick-or-treaters wearing costumes from their favorite books and TV shows, or just makeshifts ones made from items around the house, scurried about the busy streets. A police offer parked in one intersection would tease kids over his vehicle's bullhorn, saying he'd arrest them over minor infractions, but was ultimately just kidding; he too was in the spirit of this mischievous night.<p>

Sara finally arrived at a lively house which was hosting a Halloween party. A few costumed teens stood outside, conversing with each other, but it was clear the real action was inside. It seemed all the kids at school were invited – everyone except Wirt.

"There she goes." Wirt exclaimed as Sara pulled her bike into the driveway. "Let's get her."

They stood staring at the house from the sidewalk. Greg pounded a fist against his palm and scowled. "Yeah. Let's get her."

"No, w-we're not gonna get her like that."

"What are we doing?"

"We"re just gonna get the tape back."

"Oh yeah. Let's go in after her."

Wirt sighed and put his hand upon Greg's shoulder. "I can't. I wasn't invited to this party."

"I'll go in."

"You weren't invited either."

"Oh." Greg then completely ignored Wirt's caution and skipped towards the house. He passed by Terrence, a classmate of Wirt's who wore a cheap cardboard box on his head to mimic a TV set. He was listing to a friend bat & ball games other than baseball, such as 'one old cat,' 'two old cat,' 'stoolball,' and so on. Greg thought these sounded fun and wanted to try them later on. Greg then disappeared into the house, much to Wirt's dismay, and began chatting with more of Wirt's classmates.

Wirt ran up to the house and peered at Greg through the window. "Why are you talking to them?" he said axiously into the glass. Greg and the classmates then saw Wirt and smiled. Wirt panicked and rushed into the front door, desperate to try and repair whatever damage Greg had just wrought.

"Oh hey . . . guys," both his arms and cloak flaying wildly about. "I don't know what he said, but i-it wasn't true." The teenagers just waved and greeted Wirt with smiles as Greg also smiled triumphantly. Taken aback by the welcome, Wirt feigned confidence. "Oh, uh, yeah. See you around guys." he replied with a wave and a chuckle.

He then set out to find Sara. Inspecting his surroundings, he noticed this house also had shag carpeting as well as sickening golden paint. Backing into the kitchen, that room sported garish white wallpaper with large yellow & orange flower designs. Truly this house was a relic of the previous decade and in bad need of some renovation.

His introspection over the interior design was cut short as he felt himself back into someone. It was Sara. Her costume was now accessorized with a cute little gray top-hat.

"Oh Wirt, you're here!" she said happily.

"Well, I-"

Sara's smile was broad. "I was just asking if you were here."

"Oh, wow." Wirt chuckled nervously.

"Oh, hey. We're gonna go to the graveyard."

Wirt relaxed a little. "Oh are you gonna . . . do something there?"

"Nah, we're just gonna hang out and drink age-appropriate drinks.

This was probably Sara's weird little sense of humor at work. Wirt often had trouble differentiating it from common sarcasm. "Like juice?" he asked.

"Yeah, whatever." she said with a shrug and a roll of her eyes. "Age-appropriate stuff that's not illegal." Her voice then softened into a devious whisper. "Hey, you should come."

"Uh, I don't-"

"Hey, Sara." Came a slow, nasally voice from the kitchen entrance. "Are you ready to go?"

Jason Funderberker.

There he stood in all his glory, with his flawless mane of brown hair and his long, chiseled nose. He was wearing a suit even tonight! It was an attractive suit too, one of the latest fashion in various shades of green, like frog. _And why should he not wear that?_ Wirt thought. After all, there is no more perfect costume than a Jason Funderberker costume. Wirt wanted to hate Jason, what with all the anguish he was now causing him, but even now he couldn't. Even now Wirt would be cordial to Jason Funderberker even if his heart was instructing him to do otherwise. Funderberker was just too perfect to hate.

"Hey, Jason Funderberker." Wirt said with a glare.

"Oh, hey Wirt." he groaned friendlily. Sara sensed tension between the two and a look of trepidation came over her face. Actually, that look came upon her the instant Jason had entered. "Let's go, Sara." He then let out a blank groan as he turned to exit.

"You coming, Wirt?" asked Sara.

"No, no. You go. . . have fun with Jason Funderberker."

For but a moment Sara sadly hung her head. "Okay." She then added in a most playfully suggestive tone, "but if you wanna stop by later or something. . ."

"Mm, bye Wirt!" croaked Jason.

"Sayonara, Jason Funderberker." he replied darkly. He turned his head towards the kitchen counter and gasped. "Sara's jacket!" He leaped for it but, as if on cue, Sara approached from behind to collect it.

"My jacket! Thanks, Wirt." Sara offered him one final smile and wave. "Well, see ya – hopefully."

"Bye." Wirt then groaned deep at missing his last easy chance to retrieve the cassette.

* * *

><p>On the outskirts of town lay the Eternal Garden cemetery. It was a graveyard with a rich history with graves dating back to the early 1800s, perhaps even earlier, as the oldest gravestones had eroded too much to read their dates anymore. The diversity among the graves was equally rich, ranging from simple gravestones, to angelic statues, all the way to extravagant crypts. Overall, it was a peaceful spot within town where many folks liked to go for quiet walks, and was often simply called "The Garden" by the town citizens.<p>

Sara and Jason Funderberker were joined by Terrence and his TV head; April, who wore a witch costume; and Penny, a tall, somewhat nerdy girl with glasses who currently dressed as a bluebird. Penny and Sara were in the midst of an existential debate as they walked through the gates of The Garden. Sara was often no match for Penny's intelligence, but enjoyed the conversations all the same.

"... You're limiting the universe to only things humans can understand." Sara explained.

"Well, you're limiting the universe by limiting the possibility of human understanding."

"Oh. Yeah, maybe." conceded Sara.

"Sara?" Jason Funderberker asked coldly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you believe in. . . ghosts?"

"Why?" She asked in suspicion.

He pointed. "'Cause there's one right behind you!" He first smiled confidently at his joke, but his face swiftly sunk into embarrassed disappointment. "Aw, I'm just kidding."

Sara patronized him with a pat to the back. "It's okay, Funderberker." The group laughed and continued their horseplay as they walked deeper into The Garden.

Little did they know, Wirt cautiously followed them at a sizable distance. "Come on." he instructed Greg.

They traveled many paces into the cemetery when a monstrous croak emanated from an unknown direction. Greg halted and gasped. "Wirt, you tricked me!" he said elatedly. "I didn't know this was a frog hunt all along."

"It never was a-"

Greg gasped again, pointing at Wirt's classmates sitting in a circle. "A witches' gathering!" Funderberker was in the middle of telling a scarey story and the group would laugh after nearly every line he spoke. The two brothers crept behind a pair of gravestones which each had engravings of winged skulls.

"Ugh," explined Wirt as he spied on his friends. "Everybody loves Funderberker. . . What do I do?

Greg cheerfully pointed to his teapot hat. "I'll pretend to be a dead elephant and distract them what you get the tape."

"Please just stay here."

Meanwhile, Jason Funderberker's story was reaching its climax. "... and she kept getting closer, and closer," and as the fictitious killer got closer, so did Jason's hands to Sara's until finally, they touched. Jason's companions watched this and laughed, wondering what he was doing.

Wirt, however, was not laughing. His face tightened in rage until lines creased his whole face. He growled like a ravenous bear. "Go, Greg. Do it."

"Okay!"

Sara stared annoyed at Jason's hands atop her own. "Uh. . . you can let go of my hand now."

"Oh, yeah." said Jason, and he sheepishly withdrew.

"You can hold my hand, Funderberker. I don't care." said Penny casually. Jason's mouth hung open in surprise.

Just then, Greg moaned like a ghost and danced in front of the group. He theatrically spun with the teapot in his grasp.

"Hey, isn't that Wirt's little brother?" asked Penny.

"Nooooo. I'm the headless elephant!" Greg did more of his trumpeting and the group giggled at him.

Sara smiled at the display of cuteness. "Is Wirt here too?"

"Over there!" Greg pointed to Wirt's hiding spot. Wirt gasped and sunk behind the stone as best he could, which was a fruitless effort because his pointy red hat was still visible to everyone present. The group laughed and told Wirt that they could see him, and wondered what he was doing there.

Wirt quickly and nervously popped up from behind the grave. "Oh, hey, guys," he greeted with a wave. He then gestured to his brother. "Greg! There you are. . . totally wasn't spying on anybody. I was just looking for-"

Bright lights and a police siren suddenly wailed from behind. "What's going on here?" asked the officer, the same one at the intersection earlier in the night, from the bullhorn.

"Huh?"

"Is this some kinda. . . witches' gathering? You're all under arrest!" With that, the all the youths screamed out to run, and run they did. "Hey, hey! I was just kidding." the cop pleaded. "Slow down, kids. You're gonna trip or something."

The police car focused on on Wirt and Greg since they were the only two who chose to run down the cemetery's dirt road.

"Run run run, run run run!" wheezed Greg.

"Where do we go?"

Greg pointed to the path to their left. "That way!" Just a few paces afterward, the brother came upon a dead-end at a vine-covered stone wall.

"Greg!" Wirt chided, "Why did you say this way?"

"I thought I heard a frog." he explained cheerfully.

The police car came upon them and shined its headlights like a spotlight on the brothers. "This is private property." Wirt pressed his back to the wall, exposing the red inner-lining of his cloak. His eyes darted between the cop and a nearby tree, and after just a moment's thought, Wirt dove for the tree. With impressive skill, Wirt and Greg scaled the thick tree all the way up to the peak of the cold, moss-topped wall.

"Hey, don't climb up there." the officer pleaded further. "That's dangerous! Get down here before you hurt yourself!"

From his high vantage point, Wirt spotted Sara and Jason standing behind a large angel statue. Sara was fumbling around within her jacket's pockets and pulled out Wirt's tape.

"Huh?" Jason inquired.

"It has my named on it." stated Sara. Wirt's eyes widened in shock.

Funderberker brought his hands to his chin and giggled. "Let's go listen to it."

This was, without question, the worst moment of Wirt's young life. He dug his fingernails deep into his cheeks and pulled down into his own skin. His face stretched under the pressure, exposing the moist inner workings of his eyes. He whispered a long and anguished "Noooooooooo!"

"Kids, really," the cop yelled, "get down from that wall."  
>Wirt's shoulders slunk in defeat and tossed his hands to his side. "That's it. That's the end." With nothing more to do, he and his brother turned and hopped over The Garden's wall.<p>

"Ah, darn it! No. I mean come down this way!" exclaimed the cop as the children disappeared from his view.

Greg and Wirt hit the grassy earth with a thud and grunted, barely staying on their feet upon landing.

Wirt moaned, but not from the jump. "Once again ruin my life." Wirt spat to his brother.

"Who? Me?"

Wirt pressed his palm to his face and pointed an accusatory finger. "Ugh! You and your stupid dad! You're always prodding me, trying to get me to join marching band."

"Oh yeah!" Greg interrupted excitedly. "If you join the marching band, you can hang out with Sara more!"

"That ship has sailed, Greg," explained Wirt bitterly while glaring at his brother with disdain, "thanks to you messing that up too."

Greg pondered Wirt's words for a second, but then heard another frog croak nearby. The boy gasped. "Hold that thought, Wirt. He then turned and approached a bush.

"What are you doing now?"

Greg reached into the shrubbery and produced a massive bullfrog. It had a fern-green underbelly with a more forest-green top-side. The frog also possessed an unusually expressive face. Greg lovingly held it from under its arms. "Ha ha! We found our lucky frog. We gotta name him for luck." Greg then reached up to pet the frog's head. The frog croaked, its empty stare transfixed on Wirt.

"I don't wanna have anything to do with you, or that frog!" He crossed his arms in defiance of the amphibian.

"Okay, I'll try to think of a name myself."

"Ugh, I'm leaving." Wirt then began to turn, but didn't get far.

The sound of a train came fast approaching. Between the thick tufts of grass, and Wirt's sour mood, they didn't even notice the fact they stood atop ancient, overgrown railroad tracks. One would think based on their sorry condition that they hadn't been in use for years, yet here came the train all the same. The locomotive was old, too – easily a century in age. It ran on coal and spewed a thick column of black smoke as it careened toward the brothers. Its whistle blew and bright headlight shined in their faces, and would guide them to their doom if they didn't get out of the way fast.

Wirt screamed. He grabbed his brother's wrist and dove out of the train's path just in time. Unbeknownst to them, an incredibly steep slope was found beside the tracks. The brothers and their new frog landed and began to take a terrible spinning tumble. They were all unconscious before they even reached the bottom of the hill.


	2. The Old Grist Mill

CHAPTER 2: The Old Grist Mill

A weight pressed down upon Wirt's chest as he lay on a thin bed of dry, dead leaves. He opened his eyes and a lumpy silhouette was seen through blurred vision. His sight grew into focus and he could then make out the image of a frog's head staring back at him from just inches away, its oddly expressive face smiling down at him.

"Ahh!" Wirt shouted, sitting upright with a shock. The frog, who had perched itself atop Wirt's sternum, was throw onto its own back. It didn't seem to mind, and croaked once with an ever-smiling face. Wirt felt a painful bump on the back of his head and rubbed at it. As he tended his wound, he glanced around with the aid of the moonlight to find himself in the smallest of clearings within a forest. The moonlight then revealed to Wirt the shine of Greg's teapot hat.

The teenager stumbled to his feet toward his younger brother. "Greg!" he exclaimed as he shook at Greg's shoulder. "Greg, wake up! Are you alright?"

Greg's eyes popped open in a flash. "Wirt! I just had the best dream. It was about pancakes, and you were there too. I had no idea you could eat so many blueberries, Wirt!" The frog croaked once more. "Yeah!" shouted Greg. He pounced upon it like a cat, and then playfully jiggled the amphibian in the air while he laughed.

Wirt stared sternly at his brother. "It's good you're alright at least, we'll probably be in enough trouble as it is without you being hurt. Let's get back to the house, Greg. I think we fell from. . ." Wirt took a moment to study the immediate area, trying to decipher from which of the surrounding hills they had just tumbled. The sound of chirping crickets taunted Wirt as he tried to make a decision. "That way, or was it that way? No, it's gotta be that way. Come on, Greg."

"You heard him, Senator Beanbag. Let's go to your new home!" Greg told the frog, now grappled under one of his arms.

Wirt stopped mid-stride. "Who?"

"Senator Beanbag, that's the name of our new frog!"

"Greg, that's a terrible name for a frog - for anything, in fact."

The younger brother raised a finger to his chin and pondered what Wirt said. "Hmmm. You're right, Wirt. To pick out a good frog name, we first have to weed out the bad ones." The brothers embarked on their journey back to town and Greg began rambling a list of names which he or any other person would deem unsuitable for a pet of any kind. He would do this for the next two or three minutes. "Lava Lamp, Afro Taffy, Roanoke Mendoza, Tinylips XXIII, General Beauregard. . ."

Wirt would stare blankly ahead as his brother droned away. The older brother didn't pay it much mind at first, but as they hiked, the landscape seemed to develop a certain alien element to itself. An almost sickening pale mist enveloped the forest, and was eerily highlighted by weak sources of light that originated from unknown sources. Trees grew and twisted in abnormal shapes and sizes, and would hang over them at strange angles. Their roots even served as a bridge to the brothers as they passed over a large creek. A nagging feeling began to chew away at Wirt that this forest was watching him, and indeed one bird was, but it flew away when the brothers got too close. Greg would just continue to prattle bad frog names.

"... Antelope, Salami, Giggly, Jumpy, Tom, Thomas, Tambourine, Leg Face McCullen, Artichoke. Penguin, Pete, Steve, but I think the very worst name for this frog is-"

Wirt halted and held his arm out, unintentionally slapping Greg on nose. "Wait. Wait a second." Wirt was now appreciating the odd nature of this forest. But what he was truly realizing was the fact he wasn't recognizing any of it. He stared up at the awesome presence of Nature, and Nature stared back down at him. Massive, aged trees creaked as they leaned in. An owl hooted as if in warning. Small mammals atop the boughs cast their eyes, red as blood.

"... Where are we?" Wirt finally concluded.

"In the woods." Greg replied matter-of-factly.

Wirt's pupils shrank as he suddenly started to panic. "I mean. . . What are we doing out here?"

The frog appeared strained as Greg leaned upon him. "We're walking home."

The older brother frantically grabbed at the hair which dropped from under his pointed hat. "Greg, I think we're lost! We sh- we should have left a trail or something."

"I can leave a trail of candy from my pants." Without seeking Wirt's permission, Greg produced three wrapped sweets from his overalls and tossed them to the air.

Wirt sighed, and his frustrations once again came out like a Shakespearean monologue. "No. Though I am lost, my wounded heart resides back home, in pieces strewn about the graveyard of my lost love. For only-" A rhythmic thumping noise echoed past the brothers, interrupting Wirt's melodramatics over Sara. "Do you hear that?"

"Yeah"

They both stepped closer to investigate, Wirt peeking from behind a tree trunk. "Do you think it's some kind of deranged lunatic with an axe waiting out there in the darkness for innocent victims?" Greg didn't answer, and skipped into the cloak of night towards the sound. "Greg. Greg!" Wirt then whimpered and followed his brother.

A bright and undeniable glow was seen from the path ahead. The source of the glow of a cast-iron lantern. It shined a pure white light which was impossibly strong for a simple oil or kerosene lantern. Perhaps it was actually battery-powered? In any case, the glow revealed a strong, middle-aged man dressed in a black overcoat with a matching stove-pipe hat. He sang softly as he worked, using his menacing axe to chop away at a fallen tree. The tree itself was the most disturbing aspect of the whole scene. It actually wore a face, and a mournful one at that. Thick, viscous liquid seeped out from nearly every nook and crevasse of its bark, including that sad, mournful face. Though the brothers didn't yet know it, this type of tree had a special name: Edelwood.

"Greg, you're gonna get us into trouble again." Wirt chided. Wirt spotted the woodsman and gasped, growing silent. From the cover of a hearty tree root, they watched as he bundled sticks together and strapped them onto his back.

"We should ask him for help." stated Greg.

"No, we should not ask him for help."

"But-"

"Shhh!"

"You shush."

"You shush" Wirt finally brought his hand to Greg's mouth to silence him. Amidst their arguing, they didn't even notice the man in black had finished his work and had departed for unseen parts of the forest. As the glow of the lantern faded away, darkness swallowed the brothers once more.

"Shoot." said Wirt dejectedly. "Do you think we should have asked him for help?" Greg shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Maybe I can help you." said a sweet and alluring female voice from behind them, or more accurately, above them. "I mean you guys are lost, right?" It was a bluebird - a talking bluebird! An Eastern Bluebird to be specific, with white breast feathers outlined in sienna, and brilliant wings, blue like sapphires. Wirt had a birdwatching book back home so he knew the species well enough, but never did that book mention anything about talking.

Wirt gasped, slapped at his eyes, then stared wide-eyed and dumbfounded at the feathered animal. "What in the world is going on?"

"Well you're slapping yourself," Greg began saying with a raise of his brow, "and I'm answering your your question and-"

"No, Greg." Wirt gestured to the creature that perched on the branch above. "A bird's brain isn't big enough for cognizant speech."

"Hey, what was that?" the bird asked, clearly insulted.

"I mean, I'm just saying you're – you're weird. . . like, not normal. I mean, oh my gosh, stopped talking to it, Wirt." As all reason and logic was crumbling around Wirt, a small black turtle crawled up beside Greg. The boy pulled out a sticky blue piece of candy and stuck it onto its shell. The turtle skittered away with its new gift. Greg then slapped another candy onto the rump of his older brother.

The bluebird was too preoccupied with Wirt's insults to notice. "It?" she asked incredulously.

"Uh, uh"

A bright, yet familiar glow suddenly shined on the brothers. "What are you doing here?" a raspy voice boomed. It was the man in black - the woodsman, his axe raised high in one hand and the lantern nearly as high in the other. "Explain yourselves." he demanded, his face full of rage and mistrust.

"And I'll see you guys later." the bluebird said passively as she began fluttering away. "Bye!"

"C-Calm down mister!" shrieked Wirt, nearly blinded by the lantern's light. "Wh-whatever you do here is your business. W-We just want to get home with all our legs and arms attached."

The woodsman lowered his axe, but only a little. "These woods are no place for children. Don't you know the Beast is afoot here?"

"The Beast?" asked Wirt, his hands guarding his heart. "W-w-w-we don't know anything about that. W-we're just two lost kids trying to get home."

The woodsman scowled suspiciously at the brothers. "Well, welcome to the Unknown, boys. You're more lost than you realize."

The light of the woodsman's lantern once more illuminated the oily, fallen tree. Wirt couldn't help but ping-pong his glance between the gruff man and that creepy mass of timber. The cryptic greeting was the first hint Wirt had as to where he and Greg ended up after jumping over the Eternal Garden's wall, and it would repeat in his mind many, many times hench. _Welcome to the Unknown._

* * *

><p>A cliff rose from the forest like a sheet of shredded steel. A river eroded its crown and fell from its height, splattering to the earth below in a never-ending chorus of rushing water, returning to its peaceful state just a few paces later. Along this river at the cliff's bottom the forest yielded and let moonlight flow upon an old, water-driven mill. It was a grist mill, painted white but dirtied with age, and stood three stories in height. A grand waterwheel sleepily churned away while its collection troughs skirted just inches away from a large, smooth boulder embedded in the ground. There was a residence built to the side of the mill, and that's where the woodsman had just brought Wirt, Greg, and the frog.<p>

"I found this homestead abandoned and repurposed its mill for my needs." the man explained as he knelt in front of the hearth, attempting to light a fire with flint & steel. Flames sparked to life and began to pour yellow-orange light into the house which competed with the pale glow of the woodman's lantern. It made display of a simple house with beige wallpaper and timber framing the doorways. Dark, hand-carved moulding lined the entirety of the lower walls. Stairs led up from the the large foyer they currently occupied and there was also a light array of furniture - a kitchen table, end tables with various bird-theme knick-knacks, and a comfortable looking red chaise near the hearth, just to name a few.

The grizzled man turned to Wirt. "You and your brother should be safe here while I work."

Wirt glanced to his brother, who was carefully placing candies at the foot of the front door while singing the words 'candy trail' repeatedly. "What – What is your work, exactly?"

The woodsman closed his eyes and breathed deep the smokey smell of the burning fireplace. "Everyone has a torch to burn, and this here's mine." He patted at the iron lantern which rested to his side. He then removed a stick from the bundle strapped to his back, black to its core but with tan bark, and twisted about in his hands. "I grind the horrid Edelwood trees into oil to keep this lantern lit." He snapped the stick in two while a look of apparent regret crept onto his face, and the tossed the segments aside. "This is my. . . lot in life. This is my burden."

"This guy sounds loony." Wirt whispered to his brother. "Maybe we should make a break for it, if we can. But he must know the woods really well so we may need to knock him out first, except that may turn out really badly, huh? "Yeah, bad – bad plan." he concluded with a brush of his fingers. "Forget it. Bad plan."

"Okay."

"What are you boys whispering about?"

Greg pointed at the front door. "We're talking about runnin' away out of here." Wirt shushed his brother, which set off another shushing fight.

The woodsman groaned as he lumbered back up to his feet. "Leave if you wish, but remember. . . the Beast haunts these woods," he explained as he dramatically raised his hand, "ever singing his mournful melody. . . in search of lost souls such as yourselves!"

"To help us?" Greg inquired.

"No, not to help you." The woodsman strode towards the side door. "I have work to do in the mill. When I am finished, I will do what I can to guide you – if you are still here when I return." His tone suggested that the boys should stay put as the he worked, and he closed the mill door behind him.

Wirt stared at the closed doorway for a second and the said, "Huh. I guess we could just leave. I don't know."

Greg began wandering around the foyer and Wirt called to him. "What?" he asked as he piked up a small log and swung it like a bat.

"Do you think there really is a Beast out there, or is that guy just messing with us?" Greg hummed an empty agreement as he now played with one of the bird-themed knick-knacks. "I mean," Wirt continued, "he could have done away with us by now if that was his plan, and he lit that fire. That's pretty nice." Wirt then plopped himself onto the red chaise lounge.

"Yeah!" Greg spouted.

"I guess it's possible there's a Beast, since there was a talking bird, but-"

"Yeah!"

Wirt sighed and lay his head down upon the armrest. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm just like. . . a boat upon a winding river, twisting towards an endless black sea. . . Further and further from where I want to be – Who I want to be."

"Oh, I didn't know that." stated Greg, now leaning on his hands on the floor. "Did you know that if you soak a raisin in grape juice, it turns into a grape?" The young brother reached into his satchel and pulled out the clown-faced rock, displaying it high for Wirt. "It's a rock fact!"

"Ahh, you're not helping at all. Why don't you. . . go play with your frog or something?"

Greg's limps popped out wide in realization. "Aw, beans! Where is that frog o' mine? Hold on a second, brother o' mine." Greg said as he walked to the front door. "I'll be back soon for your plan." Before departing, he reached into his overalls and showered the foyer with a veritable explosion of candies. The anxious Wirt would only stare at the ceiling.

* * *

><p>"Kitty, Kitty!" Greg called out, the distant sound of the waterfall being the other thing breaking the silence of the night. "Now where did that frog named Kitty go?" Greg walked backwards alongside his trail of candy. He clumsily stepped on a piece and fell onto his back. "Whoop! I tripped on my own candy trail!" Greg suddenly shifted his attention the not-too-distant canopy of the forest from which heavy breathing was heard.<p>

The young boy cautiously stepped over to investigate, but saw nothing. He then heard the familiar croaking sound coming back from the direction of the mill and smiled. "That frog's giving me the runaround." he said playfully. Greg casually tossed more candy to the ground as he approached a barrel that sat under one of the mill's windows. After a minor struggle, the boy stood on its rim and peered into the window in search for his frog.

Within the mill, the woodsman was at work. He fed the Edelwood sticks into a chipper, and the power of the mill ground them into so much pulp between the gears. A steel pipe ran down from one end of the chipper, and black oil began to ooze out from the nozzle, pouring into a small glass vial. The woodsman swiftly replaced one full vial for a fresh one and raised the liquid to his eyes for inspection. All the while, he hummed a somber tune.

"Gross." remarked Greg from the windowsill. The croak was heard yet again. "Kitty?" Greg returned his gaze to the dark forest, yet once again nothing seemed to be there. "Hmm, is that – Whoop!" Greg took a misstep and fell straight into the barrel on which he had stood. He landed on top of his frog. "Oh there you are!" The frog only croaked, pinned down by Greg's body.

The heavy breathing returned, and was growing louder. Greg wondered if it was his brother, and softly called out his name – no response but continued breathing. "Kitty?" he then asked with a stiffening of his brow.

Light crept into the barrel, and soon its source peered into Greg's hiding spot. A wolf-like monster huffed noxious breath into the barrel. It had mangy fur, black as ink. Its eyes glowed not unlike the woodman's lantern, with soft red pupils which faded outward to orange, then yellow, and finally cyan. Those eyes seemed to peer into Greg's very soul, and may very well have hungered for that too, in addition to the boy's flesh.

Of course, Greg felt compelled to comment on them. "You have beautiful eyes!" he said with a quivering voice. The beast responded by forcing his head farther and opening his massive maw.

Wirt had dredged himself out from his sorrows a bit and now leaned upon the chaise. He had found a blue kendama wedged between the chair's cushions and tried, mostly in vain, to toss the holed ball onto its spike. He would glare in annoyance at each failure, and was finding the snaps and crackles of the nearby fire to be a more valuable source of entertainment. A curdling roar suddenly succeeded in grabbing his full attention.

"Greg?" He stopped playing with the toy and looked to the front door with uncertainty. A crashing noise then came from the mill, and footsteps approached.

The woodsman burst from the door. "What's happening? Where's your brother?

Wirt shrugged. "I dunno."

The front door opened and Greg stammered in like a drunkard. A broken plank of wood rested atop his teapot hat and the twisted metal ring of a barrel dangled from his neck. "Holy moly! Hot dog." he squeaked, and was then thrown clear by the tremendous force of the black feral beast kicking the door clean off its hinges. It growled hungrily and its massive, unholy eyes cast a glow into the house.

"It's the Beast!" yelped Wirt, throwing his hands to his mouth.

The woodsman gripped his axe tight and raised it high, ready to strike. "Stay back, boys! This creature which is known as – huh?" the stopped upon feeling his hat swiped fro his head. It turned out that Greg was thrown up the stairwell from the monster's violent entrance. The young boy took the barrel plank and swung it. He scored a direct hit on the woodman's hat. In his distraction, the woodsman stepped upon the ceramic knick-knack which Greg played with earlier, fell, and hit his head on a log – another one of Greg's play toys. The blow rendered him unconscious, and the black Beast paced closer into the house.

"Greg, why did you do that?"

"That was your plan, remember? Knock him out!" Greg triumphantly slung the plank over his shoulder.

Wirt grabbed at the mesh fireplace screen and held it out in a desperate attempt to shield himself. "No! Bad plan! I told you to forget that plan! The Beast was just inches away now and Wirt screamed, dropped the screen, and cowered behind it.

The Beast halted its advance when Greg began whacking at it from behind with the butt-end of the woodsman's axe while shouting, "Spank, Spank, Spank!" with each swat. A particularly heavy blow finally managed to draw the Beast's attention to Greg.

Wirt nabbed his chance to escape and scurried for the mill. "Run run run run run run run!"

Greg and his frog faced the Beast defiantly as Wirt fled. Once Wirt was safe, Greg pulled another cloud of sweets from his pants and yelled, "Candy camouflage!" He then wrapped his arm around the frog and also fled while repeating the word "run" while dragging the axe behind him. The candy camouflage was an apparent failure, as the Beast followed immediately behind.

Wirt quickly hit a dead-end inside the mill, standing at the rear wall. He saw the Beast lunge for him and it was through pure adrenaline that he was able to jump out of the way. The black monster collided with the wall and the impact from its colossal girth shook the old grist mill to its very foundations. A wooden cog even larger than the Beast snapped away and fell on top of the wolf.

In the moment the Beast was stunned, the brothers climbed up to a large, sturdy table where the mill's grinding stones lay. A sack of potatoes stamped with the emblem of a bluebird also sagged against the nearby wall.

"Greg!"

"This is amazing, huh?"

The Beast recovered and growled at the children, but Wirt began hucking potatoes and the Beast caught one in each eye, but ultimately it did nothing to curtail his hunt. In desperation, Wirt lobbed the entire sack at the Beast. They landed short at the edge of the table where the Beast then peaked over with his terrible glowing eyes.

"Am I supposed to throw something?" asked Greg. The Beast emitted a wail so powerful the blew Greg onto his back. "Oh yeah. Ha ha!" he then said in a stroke of enlightenment. He produced one last puff of candy from his clothes and threw it to the snout of the Beast. The black creature lopped the sweets up with his large, slug-like tongue.

"He's eating your candy." Wirt noted in astonishment.

"I wonder if he ate my whole candy trail that led to this mill."

"Ahh!" Wirt slapped at his brother's teapot. "Greg, you led the Beast right to us with your candy!"

The Beast finished the candy and attempted to hoist itself to the table. The fragile wood began to shake and creak under the weight. Just when it seemed like maybe the table, along with the heavy grinding stones, might flip over onto the monster, the rear legs gave out instead. The disoriented brothers were thrown onto their backs, but were also granted a temporary barrier from the Beast.

"Hey, give me the axe." Wirt demanded as he reached over his brother for the weapon. "You're too little to have it anyway." The Beast then rabidly clawed deep scars into the table, his gaze never leaving his meal. "Ahh, we got to – we got to get out of here!" Greg then tugged at Wirt's cloak and pointed to a ladder which led to a higher tier of the mill.

They climbed up to the next level and continued their ascent. They balanced upon narrow beams and shaky planks and the Beast watched them from below. Wirt & Greg reached the very rafters of the mill and finally, to their great fortune, a hatch to the roof. They stepped onto the roof under what was now a clear, star-filled sky, but did not find safty there; The Beast had summoned all his strength to leap all the way up, crashing past the rotting boards of the old mill's zenith, cornering the brothers. In the moonlight, one could now see sickly patches of oil pooling within the Beast's fur.

"Ahh!" Wirt screamed at the Beast's unexpected appearance. "Uh, Greg, give him the rest of your candy!"

Greg reached into his overalls and shuffled around for more sweets, but could find none. He inspected his empty hands to really drive the point home. He then noticed the single red candy which he had slapped onto Wirt's cloak earlier. Greg grabbed it with a smile and gingerly tossed it over the edge of the roof behind him while saying, "Oops."

The Beast took the bait, hopping over the children in favor of the candy. His death-defying stunt was rewarded with both the candy and a head-on collision with the waterwheel below. The black wolf bounced to the side and found its lower body lodged in the slender opening between the wheel and boulder. The sound of crunching and snapping immediately followed, though it was unclear if the source was the creature's bones or the wood of the mill itself. The clockwork of the mill was suddenly thrown under incredible strain as the wheel was forcibly stopped. Iron and wood began shredding alike, and the entire mill shook under the brothers' feet. The roof they stood on ripped asunder, throwing them into the river below. The wheel still struggled to pull the Beast along with it, and it finally did, but not before the Beast projectile-vomited a reeking mass of oil and who knows what else.

Wirt crawled out from the river just in time for a black turtle with a blue candy on its shell to land at his feet. Wirt gripped at the dripping axe and stared down at the reptile in stunned silence. He was brought back to reality when his brother called for him.

"Hey, Wirt, look!"

"Greg?"

Greg, and the frog, rode out of the river from atop the back of the Beast, though the great wolf was now quite different in appearance. Now it was but a significantly smaller dog – a grayhound colored of white and brown. The "Beast" limbered out from the water with its tongue hanging from its mouth, clearly exhausted.

"Wirt, he spit up that turtle, and now he's my new best friend!" Greg's new friend shook the water from its sopping fur, throwing Greg off in the process. The grayhound panted for a moment and then started to travel alongside the river. "Hey, where you going? Aint that just the way. . ."

The woodsman had recovered from his blow to the head and went outside to a sight that, to him, was heart-crushing. "The mill is destroyed!" he exclaimed with great sorrow. "The oil. . . all gone!" The woodsman held a broken glass vial and frowned upon it, as if it had once contained all of the fortune and treasure in the world.

Wirt felt sorry for the woodsman losing his mill, but wanted to point out the bright side of the situation. "But – but – but look. W-we got the Beast problem solved." Wirt pointed to the grayhound, who was now taking a nap beside the river.

"The dog?" he yelled wrathfully to Wirt, his eyes practically bursting with scorn. "That is not the Beast! The Beast cannot be mollified like some farmer's pet!" The woodsman forcefully yanked his axe from Wirt's weakening clutch and resumed his tirade. "He stalks like the night," he explained, bringing the axe down onto a stone and slicing off a sizable chunk. "He sings like the four winds. He is the death of hope! He steals their children. And. . . he'll ruin. . ." the woodsman's anger subsided, replaced by despair. He crouched onto the ground and transformed into a muttering, sobbing mess. To Wirt, it was a pitiable scene.

"You're always messing up, Greg." he said, knocking at Greg's teapot.

"Boy," growled the woodsman, "you have it backwards! You are the elder child! You are responsible for for you and your brother's actions." He pointed to the grist mill with now stood, barely, in shambles.

"I-I-I'm sorry," Wirt sheepishly stuttered out with his fingertips intertwined over his heart. "Maybe I can. . . fix it? I-I can't fix it."

The crestfallen man shook his head and then pointed across the river. "You must go. Take your brother north. Look for a town."

"Yeah, thanks." Wirt sincerely said. "Come on, Greg."

The woodsman held his lantern high and offered his parting words as the brothers skipped across the boulders which traversed the river. "One last thing. . . beware the Unknown! Fear the Beast, and leave these woods. . . if you can. It is your burden to bear!"

Wirt clasped his hands and nodded to the woodsman pensively. "Right. Yeah, got it."

"And little one, you look after that frog. Give him a proper name"

The frog bellowed a croak. "Okay." replied Greg.

* * *

><p>Wirt and Greg set out int the forest once again. At least this time the mist had lifted, they now had a path to follow, and also the clear, milk-light of the moon was there to guide them. Wirt wondered if the town the woodsman pointed them towards was in fact his own; he certainly hoped this was the case.<p>

"Wirt, I think I thought of a new name for our frog. I'm gonna call him 'Wirt.'"

"That's gonna be really confusing."

"No. I'm gonna call you 'Kitty.'"

"What?" Wirt asked with a scoff. "Maybe I'll start calling you 'Candy Pants.'"

"Woah! Yeah." replied Greg ecstatically. The frog croaked. "Good one, Wirt."

"Thanks."

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Wirt!"

The brothers hiked all night long in the hopes of finding their home. As they traveled, the eyes of a persistent bluebird were always upon them.


	3. Hard Times at the Huskin' Bee

**Chapter 3: Hard Times at the Huskin' Bee**

Halloween night was over. November would now usher in the next string of days, and it chose to open its first one tranquilly. Cool morning dew coated the entire fertile, grassy earth. Leaves in the autumn hues of auburn and amber wavered in the light breeze. The first golden streaks of light impaled the foredawn sky and a flock of geese migrated within their path. The local fauna such as wild turkeys and insects combed the ground in search of their breakfast. As the world was only now waking up, one creature had already been quite active for hours, hoping against great uncertainly to set a plan into motion.

A female bluebird impatiently hopped back & forth over a fallen, rotting log. She would occasionally interrupt her pacing to peer down the length of the nearby path, only to grumble upon seeing nothing. "Where are those two?" she muttered. She glanced about aimlessly and sighed, and then furrowed her brow in annoyance. "I'm about ready to drag them by the hair to that old bag if I have to!"

The bluebird then heard a sound of something approaching from the road and her flexible beak smiled in hope. She began to flap her wings and hovered above the fallen log for a better view, but then she gasped. The object approaching were not the two boys, so she swiftly dove into a bush for safety. A wooden cart, drawn by a pair of extraordinarily large turkeys and driven by a black cat, passed by. It paid the bluebird no mind and, after a moment's pause, the bird exhaled in relief. "Whew!"

From outside the bush, it appeared to shuffle while grunting was heard from within. There was a pause, followed by more violent shuffling and grunting. Then came another pause, and then the bluebird saying, "Uh-oh."

* * *

><p>A small while later, Wirt and Greg traveled through the thinning woods under a cooling canopy of golden tree boughs. The frog rested atop Greg's teapot, looking down with curiosity as the young boy continuously puffed his cheeks and pressed his index fingers down on them, releasing farting noises. Meanwhile, Wirt glanced around, finding his surroundings quite pretty, but also wondering if he was even supposed to be here.<p>

"It's almost morning." he sighed. "We should've found a town by now. This is the way the woodsman told us to go, right?"

Greg blew out an extra mighty raspberry. "Have you been listening to anything I've been saying? For the last couple hours I've been saying-" and then came another wave of the raspberries.

Wirt stopped his stride. "Well that settles it," he said with blank eyes, "I'm gonna walk up 10 feet ahead of you." He then began marching away from Greg just as promised.

"Help." a female voice suddenly yelped.

"Huh?" Greg exclaimed.

"I'm stuck!"

The young brother threw out his arms. "I hear something!"

"It's probably nothing." Wirt dismissed. He crouched in front of a carved wooden sign which was nailed to a nearby tree. "Hey, look. 'Pottsfield, one mile.' A town! Let's go this way."

"Okay, let's go this way." stated Greg, and turned the opposite direction of his brother, his frog now cradled under one arm.

"Not – ugh. . ."

Gregory approached a scruffy hedge where he thought he heard the voice originate. "Hello? Hello." he called out.

"Hey, you." the female voice exclaimed.

"Who? Me?"

"Yeah. You."

Greg threw his head past the bush's outer layer of leaves. Inside his found a frisky bluebird - the same one they briefly met the previous night. She was tangled within the brambles of a blackberry vine that grew within the shrubbery. She flapped at her wings in an attempt to escape, but to no avail. Greg cheerfully greeted the bird. "Oh, Hello."

The bluebird lightly gasped. "It's you again. I'm stuck. Help me out of here and I'll owe you a favor."

"Woah!" Greg said in wonderment. "I get a wish?"

"No no no. Not a wish. I'm not magical. I'll just do you a good turn."

"Can you turn me into a tiger?"

"Um, no." she said, doing her best to veil her annoyance. "I just said I'm not magical."

"It doesn't have to be a magical tiger." he happily explained.

Wirt approached. "Greg, stop talking to a bush."

"Okay." The young boy then daintily reached in and freed the bluebird. She flapped up and hovered above them, and Wirt looked on in confusion.

"Thanks, I owe you a favor." said the bird. "So, um, you two are lost kids with no purpose in life, right?"

"Uh-huh." said Greg as he and the frog smiled. Wirt grimaced.

The bluebird spread out her wings. She added an especially soothing, almost magical element to her already sweet voice. "How about I take you to Adelaide of the Pasture, the good woman of the woods? She can help you get home."

While Greg was clearly impressed, Wirt had many doubts ready to be made known, shaking his head and flailing his hands about as he spoke. "N-no, no, no no. No no no no no. Magic talking birds leading us to fairy godmothers in the mysterious. . . I'm going to Pottsfield." His mind made, he turned and continued on the packed earthen road.

"Yeah, we're going to Pottsfield," Greg explained to the bluebird, "Come on."

"What about the favor?" she asked.

"I'll think of the wish later." replied Greg. The bluebird groaned in response.

Wirt, Greg, the frog, and their new bluebird companion finally reached the forest's edge. Wirt was happy to see a clear sky again and his spirits were high. Smiles were shared by all when they came upon pumpkin patches to either side of the fenced road – their first signs of civilization since getting lost in the Unknown, not counting the solitary grist mill. The gourds were vibrant orange and ready for harvest. Wirt and Greg were both reminded of their mother's delicious pumpkin bread which she made every Thanksgiving, and such thoughts only made their smiles grow wider, and their pace brisker.

"So, let's small-talk," Greg said as the bluebird fluttered near his head. "My name's Greg. What's yours?"

"Beatrice."

"My brother's name is Wirt." he explained with a hand gesture.

"Who cares?" replied Beatrice. Once again, Wirt grimaced.

"And my frog's name's Wirt Jr., but that may change." He tenderly rubbed at the frog's cheek.

"Okay, that's great." The bluebird softened her voice. "How about you and I ditch your bother?"

"Umm, maybe later." Greg said with uncertainty. He quickly changed the subject. "So, is it nice being a bird?"

"Nope."

"Oh. . . Do you like waffles?"

"No, waffles make me sick. I eat. . . m-maggots." she said in a trailing voice, as if her own natural bird diet was unsavory to her. Greg brought trembling fingertips to his face and shrieked in horror, making Beatrice back-flip in surprise. "What?" Beatrice then demanded.

"How can you not eat waffles?" Crunching and squishing sounds were then heard from the ground and Greg shrieked again.

Beatrice also black-flipped once more. "What?"

"I stepped on a pumpkin!" he explained, a small vegetable now adorning his his right foot.

"Aha!" Wirt suddenly interrupted. He stood at the crest of a hill and raised his fists triumphantly to the sky as he gazed upon a farming village in the distance. "Civilization, see? Now-" Wirt took a step and he too drove a foot into the moist guts of a previously unseen pumpkin. He struggled a bit to shake it free, and when he did the seeds spilled about all over the road. "Alright, let's rejoin society."

* * *

><p>The quartet traveled into Pottsfield village at a leisurely pace. It was a quaint little village, all the buildings having steep roofs painted in bright reds, blues, and greens. When Wirt was still in elementary school, his class took a field trip to Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia. Now exploring the heart of the village, he was finding striking similarities between the two towns. All the houses were built of timber, either from plastered logs, or straight, whitewashed planks. Wagon wheels and rain barrels were found beside every structure, and there wasn't a paved road to be found. Wirt knew from the woodsman that he and Greg had somehow gotten lost within the land of the Unknown, but the mill, and now Pottsfield seemed so antiquated that he wondered if maybe they had time traveled as well. It certainly didn't seem like 1984 anymore no matter where they went.<p>

Pottsfield did have one stark contrast to Williamsburg: There were no tourists and men in goofy 18th century costumes – or anyone at all. It seemed to be a ghost town. Wirt turned down an alley between two cottages, Greg and his pumpkin shoe hobbling beside him with Beatrice perched on his teapot. "Hello? Hello?" Wirt yelled out in many directions. "See anybody?" he asked his brother.

"No," replied Greg, then adding, "Oh! I see you."

"Yeah I. . . see you too, Greg."

"Hey, not to be obnoxious," began Beatrice, "but an abandoned ghost town doesn't seem like it's gonna be that useful getting you guys home."

Wirt cleared his throat and stepped towards a small, one-room cottage with two windows to either side of wide-planked door. "There's got to be somebody. Somewhere." He knocked at the cottage door and peeked inside. "Excuse me? Anyone here? Hello?"

The interior of the cottage had baskets of plants hanging from the rafters. There was a white stone hearth to one side, and a longtable with more baskets atop it to the other. The center hosted a simple square table with a plaid tablecloth. A large, and evidently sleepy turkey sat at the table with its head and long neck strewn over the cloth. It perked up as Wirt called inside, its red waddle and baggy pink skin glistening in the sunlight. It blinked silently at the human intruder.

"Oh. Sorry. Uh, I'm looking for a phone." Wirt clumsily explained. "I'm sorry." He chuckled nervously and only lightly pushed the door close as he ran away. He returned to the alley where Beatrice stood atop a bail of straw, and the frog beside it.

"Did you find anything?" Beatrice asked.

"No. Where's Greg?"

Greg burst out from the straw, pointing down the street. "Do you hear that?"

"Huh?" They all glanced down the road where there was a red, three-story barn not but 200 feet away. Singing poured from its slightly ajar doorway. It sounded like many people a joined in song – perhaps even the entirety of Pottsfield's citizens. It was a joyful song of celebration.

… _Let spirits meet, _

_around the barn of Pottsfield town._

_Oh, Heidi Pours, your golden meed,_

_You're in the maypole dance._

_A river too wild, my soul, _

_and to bind the. . . ._

The brothers stood at the barn door with eyes wide and jaws dropped. All the denizens of Pottsfield frolicked within the barn, and they appeared to be pumpkin men! They had heads of pumpkins with every conceivable facial expression painted on them, though many also carved out their eyes' holes. Some also had pumpkins for torsos. Their garments were made of weaved or braided corn husks which were tailored into trousers, shirts, dresses, hats, and, in the case of the women, even their hair.

Most villagers sang and danced around a tall maypole which was nearly as high as the barn itself. Dozens of its green ribbons dangled from a paper-mâché jack-o-lantern with a skeleton-like jowel. The decoration was easily the size of a car. Many other Pottsfield residents were found to the side in other festival activites. Some shucked corn. Some carved pumpkins or peeled apples to later be baked into pies. One couple danced hand-in-hand with a black cat. Everyone was having a grand time to the tune of the band, who played old-timey instruments like fiddles and jugs.

"What the. . ." Wirt whispered in wonder.

A pumpkin man wearing a pointed scarecrow's hat approached from behind, wedging himself between the brothers to reach the party. "Oh, pardon me there." he said politely, his voice muffled under the pumpkin. He turned to the brothers and said, "Say, you folks ought to don your vegetables and celebrate the harvest with us."

"Uh, oh!" Wirt exclaimed, a light suddenly going on in his head. "You're wearing costumes."

"Well, sure. Pumpkins can't move on their own. . . can they?"

Wirt coyly rubbed at his neck and smiled. "Ha. No. Yeah, no."

"Good thing I didn't take this off." said Greg as he shook his small pumpkin shoe.

Beatrice sat atop Greg's teapot and glanced worriedly about the barn and its strange festivities. "You guys find this place as creepy as I do, right?"

Wirt shrugged dismissively. "So it's some kind of weird cult where they wear vegetable costumes and dance around a big thing. They. . . seem nice enough."

"Okay, you're in denial. That's fine. But I'm just saying, something feels off about this place."

"Well. . . maybe I can find someone here who will give us a ride home. Greg, you stay out of trouble. Beatrice, thank you, but can leave." he told the bird with a wave and a slight raise his nose.

Beatrice sunk her head and sighed. "I can't leave. I'm honor-bound to help you since you guys helped me. That's the. . . bluebird rules."

"Uh, okay." Wirt softly said as he escaped towards the thick of the party.

Greg held out his arm and pumpkin foot and rolled is eyes up to the bluebird upon his hat. "Beatrice, would you care for this dance?"

"No thanks." Greg ignored her and hobbled towards the other dancers. "No thanks. No thanks! I said no thank you."

Meanwhile, Wirt silently approached a lone pumpkin maiden. Her gourd was painted with tiny, puckering red lips. She wore a flowing corn husk gown with matching shaw, and her "hair" draped down in a similar fashion, tied with ribbons at the shoulder-line. She noticed Wirt and turned to the teenager, saying, "Say, aren't you a little too. . . early?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it doesn't seem like you're ready to join us just yet."

"Join you?" Wirt asked with the raise of one eyebrow. "Yeah, no. I'm just passing through."

"Folks don't tend to 'pass through' Pottsfield." she stated seriously.

"Oh. . . yeah?"

"Yeah. . . it's nice here."

Wirt was having a hard time hiding his denial over the creepiness of this place. Sweet beaded under his pointed hat and he began to pull at his cloak's collar to release some excess body heat. "Um, I'm really looking t-to leave here as fast as possible."

Suddenly, an apparently elderly villager who dressed in wrinkled vegetables side-stepped into their conversation. "Eh, what? What?" he grumbled, using an empty cornucopia as a hearing aid. "Leave Pottsfield? Who wants to leave Pottsfield?" he shouted so loud that most of the barn heard him.

The music went silent. All the villagers stopped their cheeful celebration and slowly turned towards Wirt, murmuring between themselves in appauled shock.

Greg, holding his frog's webbed hand, stopped his dancing too. "Oh, are we leaving already?"

Beatrice took to the air. "Let's leave immediatly!"

The outsiders wouldn't have had a hope's chance of escape anyhow. One villager closed the barn's door's behind him and the entire place went dark save for a couple beams of precious sunlight which poured in from high shutters. The crowed closed in on the brothers, thair breathing audible from under their pumpkin masks.

Wirt stepped back from the crowed. "I'm just trying to get home."

"They're not supposed to be here." said one villager.

"Maybe he's here to steal our crops." accused another.

"To ruin our party!"

Greg hobbled over to Wirt, pointing to his foot. "Or take off our pumpkin shoes!" The villagers now surrounded Wirt and Greg. The brothers were now completely at their mercy.

"No, I uh-" Wirt chuckled frightfully.

Just then, a deep, booming chuckle was heard from overhead. "Now hold on everybody." it said with another chuckle. "Let's not jump to conclusions." The massive decorative pumpkin from atop the maypole revealed itself to be the source. The green ribbons were part of its body too, like a giant squid with a hundred thin tentacles. It leaned in forward to inspect the boys, letting sunlight shine upon its large face which, despite seemingly being made of paper, was nearly as expressive as Wirt's or Greg's. However, even if its lips could defy their form a bit, its closed, skeletonesque smirk was always present.

Wirt slapped his cheek at the awesome sight of the being and exhaled, "Woah!"

"Enoch," inquired the village elder, "what shall we do with them?"

Beatrice decided she had enough of this and began to fly away. "I'm done!"

Enoch had two shorter ribbon arms which had been strapped to the rafters to mimic party decorations. He ripped them free and then pressed them together as he talked down to the brothers. "Now let's see here, boys." he began calmly and slowly, "How did you end up in this little town of ours?"

Wirt's long hat nearly fell from his head as he looked up to Enoch's huge figure. Not even trying to hide his intimidation, he backed up a few steps before forcing out some words. "Well, we were trying to get home. We. . . came into town from the woods. Uh, we saw your farms and your houses and thought, 'Hey, here's a normal place with normal people."

Greg dangled his pumpkin shoe out once more. "And we both stepped on pumpkins."

"Yeah. A-and then we heard the music from the barn, and, well, uh. . . H-how about we just leave?"

Enoch raised his "shoulders" and chuckled. "Now let me this straight – You come to our town, you trample our crops, you interrupt our private engagement, and now you want to leave?

"Uh. . . yes." Wirt stated with surprising courage.

Greg almost lost his balance upon his pumpkin shoe when he pointed defiantly at the great harvest spirit. "You'll never convict! You have no proof!"

The wrinkled village elder returned with Beatrice in-hand. The bluebird angrily flapped her wings and kicked her little bird feet in his grasp. "This one's trying to escape!" he announced.

"Let me go! I don't know these clowns!"

An uneasy sneer came over Enoch's large face, his ribbon arms steepled right under his chin. "Children, it saddens me that you don't wish to stay here with us, particularly because I simply _have _to punish you for your transgressions." He raised more of his ribbons and they wavered around him in all directions, clattering against themselves like spider legs.

"I told you this place was bad news." squawked the bluebird.

Enoch's voice grew yet more dark, yet had an eery singsong tone about it as he announced his decision to Wirt's fear-frozen face. "So by the order of the Pottsfield Chamber of Commerce, I find you guilty of trespassing, destruction of property, disturbing the peace. . ." He then plopped his whole figure down directly in front of the brothers, the puff of wind blowing back Wirt's cloak for a moment. "... and _murder_." he moaned.

"Murder?" yelped Wirt.

Enoch swiftly stood and his voice returned to a slightly more normal and soothing state. "Oh, no, not murder. But. . . for those other crimes, I sentence you to. . . a few hours of manual labor."

While Greg reacted with a smile, Wirt's tense face sunk, almost disappointed in the anticlimax of it all. "Wait. What? Really? That's it?"

"You heard him, kids," said the Pottsfield elder. "Come this way."

The old villager, along with a small contingent of four others taking up the role of guards, shoved open the barn doors, letting sunlight spill in once more. They marched outside and the sounds of music and laughter resumed from the barn behind them. The villagers led Wirt's party behind the barn to the nearby blacksmith's shop, a well-kept building which was just slightly smaller than the barn There was an open garage of sorts to the side where a broken wagon currently lay in wait for the repairs. The villagers led them into an enclosed room which turned out to be the workshop proper. There were counters and worktables at all sides, and dozens of rustic tools such as hammers, hatchets, chisels, and handsaws were hung on the walls.

The elder dropped Beatrice onto a counter. "Stay there." he commanded.

She landed with a thunk and rubbed at her rump. "Hey, easy!"

"Now, let's get that off you," stated the village elder to Greg. He leaned down and forced the small pumpkin off the boy's foot, to which Greg moaned his disappointment.

A younger villager approached Greg with an iron ball-and-chain and shackled it to Greg's ankle. "Wow, my own bowling ball!" Gregory exclaimed. "Thanks, mister."

"Oh, aren't you polite? You're quite welcome."

Another ball-and-chain was quickly shackled onto Wirt when he was too preoccupied staring at his brother. "Hey!" he protested. "Come on, is this necessary? Y-you don't really think we're gonna try and run off, do you?"

"Just a precaution." replied the elder.

Beatrice proceeded to let out a large, guttural laugh, rolling around a bit on her back. "Yeah, Wirt!" she said jovially. She then mockingly flapped her wings and joked, "We wouldn't want you to. . . fly the coup!" Wirt glared bitterly at her, but then a Pottsfield guard slapped a tiny ball-and-chain onto Beatrice's leg. "What?" she shouted.

The wrinkled old villager pointed at her. "We already know _you'll_ try and escape."

"Why do you even have one of these in bird size?" she asked. Wirt tried his best to hold it in, but despite his efforts, a chortle escaped his nostrils. The bluebird gave him the evil eye

* * *

><p>They were brought out to the farmlands and given a small lists of tasks. At first they were handed pitchforks to rake old straw from the freshly harvested fields. Beatrice found her small frame was too weak to move the ball-and-chain fastened to her leg, and would be of little use for the day. She would look over to the brothers, Greg switching between working and playing with his frog, and Wirt happily paying her no mind. The fact that Wirt worked with a smile on his face only served to sour her mood further.<p>

Their next task was to help harvest the crops. They snipped pumpkins from the vine and loaded them into turkey-drawn carts, and picked corn fresh from the stalks into baskets. Some clumsy misfortune came upon Wirt when the turkeys plucked the hat from his head and let out taunting gobbles when he tried to jump up for it. Gregory pulled down a stack of corn as he harvested it, then let it go, the stalk swiftly springing upright and slapping Wirt's face. The recoil threw him onto his back, and he turned to Beatrice to see the bird smiling wickedly at his pain.

Sentries, still in their pumpkin costumes, were ever-present as they worked. Many stood at a fair distance, watching, making sure the brothers kept up with the work. A couple more villagers were closer and would glare threateningly if, for example, Wirt tried to take a bite out of an ear of corn. Clouds also rolled in as they worked. What started out as a cheerful, sunny day slowly grew into a dull and gloomy one. The skies were a blanket of gray when the boys were performing their final task of the day: to dig deep holes in two specified spots in the fields. After a good hour of shoveling, their holes were deep enough for the brothers to stand waist-high within them.

"Ha ha," grunted Wirt as he shoveled away a mound of moist dirt, "just a few hours of manual labor and we're almost done." He spiked his shovel into the earth and wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow in celebration.

Beatrice sat beside him at the edge of the hole. "And then what are you gonna do?" she nagged. "Just wander around, this way and that way. . . through the woods. . . forevermore?"

"Uh, uh, maybe we'll just stay here in Pottsfield. It's nice here." he said, echoing the words of the pumpkin maiden he met in the barn. Wirt let out an empty chuckle and then sighed. "I don't know. I don't know!"

"Why do they even have you digging these holes?"

"Planting seeds or something."

"Maybe they're gonna bury you out here." she exclaimed in a playful tone. Wirt scoffed at the suggestion.

"Hey!" Greg suddenly shouted, holding his shovel up high. "Buried treasure!"

"Woah, really? See, Beatrice? What'd you find?"

"A skeleton!" Greg gleefully replied, crawling out of the hole to reveal a complete set of perfectly white human bones, its slacked jaw hung unnaturally wide.

Wirt threw his hands out and yelled, "Ahh!" He looked down to his feet and a stomach-turning realization came over him. "We're digging our own. . . I-I-I was wrong." he stuttered to Beatrice. "I was wrong all along. I-I don't know how to get us home. Use your little feet to pick our locks!" he yelled desperately.

"Oho! Now you want my help?"

"I kinda need your help!"

Just then, a snare drum and trumpet were heard, fast approaching. It played a slow and mournful dirge – the song of Wirt and Greg's imminent funeral. Enoch marched through the cornstalks to the sound of the music, long poles with waving white flags grasped in each of his ribbon arms. A third flag trailed behind.

"Yes! I want your help!" he screamed pleadingly. "Beatrice, seriou-"

"Your time is up!" declared the crackly voice of the wrinkled village elder.

Wirt screamed when he turned to see every citizen of Pottsfield, with Enoch towering behind them, staring down at Wirt. Enoch wavered in the wind, and Wirt gulped at the very sight of him. The harvest spirit moved his large head downwards and transfixed his hallow eyes onto the teenager as if to smell his fear.

"Have the holes been dug?" asked the elder.

"Uh. . . yeah."

"Splendid! Well, then-"

"But, no!" interrupted Wirt.

"No?"

Wirt stood dumbfounded in front of the villagers. He then heard Beatrice whisper for his attention. He looked into the hole and Beatrice was hammering away at her shackle with the tiny shovel her taskmasters had provided. "Keep stalling!" she commanded, her words muffled by the shovel's shaft in her beak.

Wirt feigned confidence and began to explain his story to the Pottsfield residents, making wild hand gestures as he told it. "Right. Yeah, uh, you know, we were digging, and there were too many rocks. You guys don't like rocks, right?"

The villagers paused, murmuring to each other. "No, we don't like rocks." they eventually agreed.

"I don't think so." added a female villager.

"See?" Wirt said with the biggest fake grin on his face. "So we're like, 'we should get rid of these rocks.'" Beatrice, now free from the iron ball, hopped into Greg's hole. Wirt didn't notice.

"Well that's a good idea." said the scarecrow-hatted villager with an agreeing nod.

"Right? Yeah. So, we were getting rid of the rocks and – huh?" Wirt glanced behind him just in time to see Greg, the frog, and Beatrice all run away from the crowd. "What? They left me." he whispered sadly.

"So, what happened to the rocks?"

"Yeah, the rocks. Yeah, they – they were um, you know. They – they – they got in the way of all the – well the dirt, you know and. . ." Gentle sounds of rattling began to emit from the hole behind Wirt as he fumbled through his story. The skeleton which Greg had unearthed lumbered out from the hole on its own volition. It carried two femurs in each bony hand. The skeleton took a few shaky paces towards Wirt and started to bang the femurs against its own skull, initiating a strange skeleton dance. "Wooaahhh!" Wirt moaned upon turning to the sight of this.

The villagers, in contrast, began happily chattering over this development. "Welcome back, Larry!" shouted one.

"He looks exactly the same." stated another.

"What the. . ." trailed Wirt in confusion.

The citizens of Pottsfield gathered in a circle around "Larry." He was handed a jack-o-lantern and he rolled it down his bony arms in a great display of showmanship, finally tossing it to the air and having it fall over his entire skull. Larry then cannonballed into larger pumpkin and popped his limbs out from the vegetable's crust. The villagers cheered as he donned his new attire.

Wirt screamed when a second skeleton crawled out from his own hole. A villager held out another jack-o-lantern saying, "Edward, this one's for you!" and he too masked his skull within the orange gourd.

Wirt looked on in wide-eyed amazement. "They're all skeletons. . ."

"Thanks for digging up the life of the party." said one villager to the teen. They all began dancing, cheering, and laughing. The party resumed as if it had never departed the barn.

Enoch bobbed his ribbon arms in delight. "What a wonderful harvest." He then glanced to Wirt. "And what about you? You sure you want to leave?"

"Me? Yes!"

"Oh well. You'll just us someday." he said darkly. He turned away, never again to pay Wirt another thought.

Beatrice hopped out from the tall grasses behind Wirt. "Psst! Why are you still here?"

"What do you mean? You guys left me!" Beatrice held out her foot and pointed at it. Wirt took the hint and looked at his own ankle to see the shackle unclasped from his ankle, sitting lifelessly just inches away. "Oh." he added blankly.

* * *

><p>Greg sat next to his frog back under the golden canopy of the woods. They were both pretending they were driving a car and were enjoying the pantomime session. Beatrice fluttered in and perched atop Greg's teapot. A short while later, Wirt sprinted up beside them.<p>

"Oh," he said, panting and grasping at his knees for support. "Are they chasing us?"

"Nope." replied both Greg and Beatrice.

Wirt exhaled a huge sigh of relief. "I-I thought you guys-"

"You're welcome." the bluebird stated with a smirk.

Wirt paused, then humbly bowed his head to her. "Thank you. I guess we're even now, huh? You're not honor-bound to help us anymore." he said, defensively crossing his arms.

"I wish," sighed Beatrice, "but you weren't actually in any danger with those weirdos."

"Oh yeah!" he exclaimed, grinning. "Then you still have have to help us get home."

"I got it!" Greg interjected. He held up his frog for Wirt. "I wish Wirt Jr. had fingernails so he could play the guitar better." Wirt and Greg responded by staring at him for a moment in silence.

"So. . . yeah." Beatrice then said. "I'll bring you to Adelaide. I mean, that's where I'm going anyway." She then started to fly beside the brothers. The quartet began their travels anew, fading into the forest under bright beam's of the sun's light. Their destination was now clear, but what new stops and adventures they would meet on the way was yet to be seen.

"Why are you going to Adelaide?" Greg asked curiously.

"I guess, in some ways, I'm trying to get home too."

"That's vague." stated Wirt. "What does that mean?"

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"Well, I sure hope Adelaide is more helpful than that woodsman was. I think his directions were. . . not very good."


	4. The Battle of Emeraldsea Pasture

(NOTE: This chapter is an adaptation of the official OtGW comic book special published by Kaboom! Studios.)

**Chapter 4: The Battle of Emeraldsea Pasture**

Through a rain-soaked twisted path in an especially dark and gray section of the woods trod Wirt, Greg, his frog, and their new companion, Beatrice the bluebird. At least two days had now passed since their encounter in Pottsfield. The forests seemed never-ending at times. The small caravan would spend all waking hours shuffling their dirtied shoes over paths laden with dead leaves, skipping over stones to pass the occasional creek, or foraging for roots & berries for sustenance. Yet no matter how far they traveled, they never seemed to make any reasonable progress toward reaching Adelaide, the good woman of the Pasture. Perhaps the misty fog of the Unknown, which ever lingered through the trees, was to blame.

To Wirt, strangely enough, it was within this fog that he began to see things more clearly. On that first faithful night when he and Greg lost their way, Wirt felt an odd comfort in the Unknown; in being lost. It meant he was far away from home, his past mistakes, and regrets. It meant he was far away from Sara. . . Sara, waiting back home, but not for Wirt. Being lost was an escape from the shambles that was his past life. Now that he met Beatrice, his burden was truly relieved. Onward they traveled, their footfalls echoing into nothing. Finally, life was simple. Just follow the bird.

As Wirt stared blankly to the ground, his mind adrift with thoughts of home and Sara, the conversation between Beatrice and his brother passed Wirt by completely without his notice.

"How long 'til we get to Adelaide of the Pasture?" Greg asked to Beatrice.

"At the pace you're walking, maybe ten billion years?"

"So. . . is Adelaide a boy or girl?"

Beatrice perched atop a low-hanging branch, shooting an angry glare back at Gregory. "I told you earlier, Adelaide is an old lady."

"Does that mean I have to call her 'young man?'"

"What? No, Greg. Stop asking questions about Adelaide now."

Greg began to wander off the path to climb up a slope made of stepped boulders. "Okay, what's a pasture?

"You know, that's a great question. Why don't you-"

"Thanks!" the boy interrupted.

"Why don't you save all your questions for when we get to Adelaide, huh?"

Greg reached the top of the slope and grabbed onto a tree branch, swinging on it like a monkey while the frog croaked in his arm. "But didn't you say that's gonna take ten billion years? I don't know if I'll remember all my-"

"Greg!" snapped Beatrice. "Just walk in in a straight line and stop asking questions!"

The younger brother dropped from the branch and pointed to either side of him. "Okay, which direction should I walk?"

"Ack! Wirt! Get your brother in line or I'm going to lose it!"

It was at about this point where the gray of the thick forest lifted and the mists receded. Pure, white light shined from a single direction and the party, minus Wirt, were drawn to it. Through the break in the trees they came upon a great, vast field of waving yellow-green grass which flowed as far as the eye could see. A wooden rail fence marked its borders, and a wooden wind turbine stood high as a beacon for the group to follow. The turbine spun slowly in the gentle breeze, squeaking slightly as it was in need of oil.

"Hey, that's a pasture!" stated Greg.

"Wirt. Wirt!" called Beatrice.

Wirt was snapped out of his stupor, merely saying, "Hmm?"

"Geez Louise," chided Breatrice from atop the fence, "get the rocks out of your brain, Wirt."

Greg shuffled into the grass which grew all the way up to his ears. He suddenly stopped in awe. "Woah! Look at that!"

A modest ship, no longer than a bus, sailed past the travelers atop the folding waves of grass. Except it wasn't a ship. To Wirt's disbelieving eyes it seemed to be a giant, upside-down bicrone hat, painted black and adorned with elegant gold trim. An assortment of masts and white sails grew from its deck. Three men and an infant stood proudly in sight for all to see. These men were apparently soldiers, wearing blue & white uniforms and hats straight out of the Napoleonic Wars. As they sailed by, they sang a jaunty tune.

_Four wayward soldiers in search of battlegrounds._

_The first was the general; the second was round!_

_The third was the grenadier; the fourth was barely born,_

_And all went sailing in an old bicorne!_

They made for an interesting sight, to say the last. The General was a tall, slender man with a nose nearly as long as his thin, white ponytail. A sash and blue bicrone spoke of his rank, but he truly garnered command by means of his weapon of choice: a mighty wooden spoon. The First Mate was a stout and rotund man who currently gnawed on a turkey leg. His small blue shako did ill to cover his black, greasy, receding hairline, and there was no hope of buttoning his overcoat which should have been tearing at the seams around his gelatinous frame. The grenadier, the youngest "man" among them wore no overcoat, but a barrel labeled, "TNT." His white pantaloons were neatly buckled over the lower edge of the barrel. Finally, the Cabin Boy was just months in age. With just a beige Victorian infant's gown around him, only his shako indicated he was among the ranks of the other three. He cooed while playing with a wheeled miniature version of their vessel.

"Hey!" shouted Greg to the soldiers, "Are you guys named Adelaide?"

"Us?" the General replied defiantly, "No, the four of us are not collectively called 'Adelaide.' We are wayward soldiers. Come aboard and join our ranks!"

The Grenadier theatrically raised a cutlass to the air. "We're in search of war!"

"And the spoils of such!" added the First Mate through a mouth full of turkey.

"Goo gee goo goo gee goo." said the Cabin Boy, dribbling upon his gown.

Wirt leaned upon the fence, his face resting in one palm. He stared inquisitively at their ship and wondered if something was wrong with his perception, or if there was suddenly something wrong with science.

Beatrice nonchalantly turned her tail feathers to the gentlemen. "Sorry boys. We're busy."

The soldiers missed Beatrice's dismissal, because they were already in the midst Greg's induction ceremony. Greg and his frog knelt on the deck of the ship, now wearing one of their blue uniforms, Greg's shako resting atop his teapot. As the other soldiers stood solemnly with their hands over their harts, the General was "knighting" Greg and the frog with his spoon.

"And do you take this uniform to be your lawfully wedded outfit?" the leader asked with great dignity.

"I do." said Greg. The frog croaked in acceptance.

"Greg!" yelped Beatrice as she hopped several inches up from the fence.

The soldiers started dancing in celebration of their new recruits. Greg leaned over the edge of the bicrone, saying, "They're going to take us to Adelaide's house!"

Beatrice darted up to Greg. "Shh! Don't tell our business to a bunch of wackos!"

The General overheard this and madly stomped towards her, pointing the spoon to her face. "And why not?" he grumbled. "Are you. . . an enemy of the commonwealth?"

Beatrice dug one foot into the felt of Greg's second hat and used the other to try and shove the General's spoon away. "I give up. Whatever. Fine. . . Traveling by hat can't be any slower than how we've _been_ going. Okay. . . We'll join your band of buffoons." The soldiers erupted into cheers and began their dancing anew. "Come on, Wirt!" Beatrice then shouted.

Wirt, ever lost in thought since he surrendered leadership to Beatrice, had simply been staring at the dancing blades of grass this whole time. It wasn't until Beatrice screamed his name a second time that he was pulled back to reality, saying, "huh?"

"Stop mumbling and get on the hat, fool!"

"But. . . it's not safe." protested Wirt as he climbed over the fence. "A boat full of people can't just float on grass."

"It's not a boat, it's a hat!" replied Greg with a smile. At that moment, the wind began blowing strong. The sails puffed outward and the ship started to resume its journey.

Beatrice waved her wing at Wirt. "If you don't want to get on the hat, then we'll just have to meet you at Adelaide's house. See ya!"

"Wait, no!" cried out Wirt as he hurdled toward the accelerating ship. Greg tossed over a rope ladder and Wirt managed to scramble up to the railings. "I don't know about this. . ." he said said, looking to the bluebird with unease as he tightly gripped on the coarse rungs of the rope.

"You don't know about anything." retorted Beatrice. "Just do everything I tell you to do without question, okay?" She stared down at Wirt with a threatening glare.

The air suddenly seemed tense. Wirt, the frog, and the Cabin Boy all looked at the overbearing bluebird with concern. Greg, however, merely smiled. After a substantial pause, Wirt finally climbed aboard and said, "Uhh. . . yeah, okay."

And so they sailed with the soldiers; Wirt, his brother, and his keeper. . . into the fields of the Unknown upon an unscientific sailing hat that made no sense at all.

* * *

><p>Not long after their departure, the ship was bustling with professionalism which contrasted the soldiers' generally silly nature. The Grenadier was busy adjusting the sails in an endless struggle to catch the optimal winds. The General stoically stood with one foot upon a crate, peeking through a spyglass in search of war. The First Mate was busy raiding the food stores for the thirty-seventh time that day, and Wirt was once more lost in the world of his own mind, staring out into the horizon upon the bicrone's rails.<p>

"Hey, Johnathon Livingston Applesauce," said Greg to the frog. "What do you think war is going to be like? The most fun thing?" The frog belched out a happy croak. "Yeah, I hope we get to sing lots of songs." The new recruit then turned to his commander. "Hey General, can we sing a song right now?"

"No my boy," replied the General, who was peering into the fat end of his bronze spyglass, "We haven't time for song. Enemies of the Commonwealth _abound_ in these parts!"

Beatrice flew down from the crow's nest and grappled onto a drooping rope. "Well don't start any fights until we get off this tub, alright?" she told the General glibly. "We're just here temporarily."

The General respectfully removed his hat and placed it over his heart. "M'lady, when the bugle sounds we must follow the call of battle."

"Cattle." interjected the First Mate, a hot dog now in his hand.

"Err, cattle. Yes. The call of cattle."

"What?" the bluebird questioned.

"No, over there, General." demanded the First Mate as he pointed starboard. "Cattle!"

The General peered overboard and was greeted by the moo of a curious brown cow looking up to him. It wore a red collar bearing a cowbell. "Ah, yes! See? Follow the cattle call!"

"Oh brother," groaned Beatrice, "are you seriously telling me-"

The bluebird was interrupted by the General's war cry. "To arms, men! To arms!

The deck of the ship swiftly transformed into a jumbled mess of activity. The Grenadier popped from below deck with arms full of cannonballs and cutlasses. The Cabin Boy spat out his tongue and clung onto a rope to hoist the sails. The First Mate raised a loaf of french bread high and shouted in challenge of his new adversary.

The General shook his spoon at the group of bovines who grazed peacefully beside his vessel. "Your bell shall ring no more, Bos Taurus!" he taunted. The commander scurried about the ship, passing near Wirt, who was ignoring the recent outcry and continuing to stare out into the nothingness of the pasture. "Good initiative there, boy!" he said to Wirt, patting him on the shoulder. "Keep looking out into the distance and let me know if you see enemy reinforcements."

"Huh? What?"

"You'll make Lieutenant in no time!"

"But General," said Greg, "she seems like such a nice, good cow." He held his hand out over deck to the animal and it mooed, affectionately licking Greg's fingertips.

"Bah! No time for cowardice, Ensign." scolded the General, shaking his fist at Greg. "Wave the flag proudly!"

"What flag?"

The General's jaw dropped and the tightly gripped at his spoon with both hands. "No flag? Hold, men! Hold." he shouted to his soldiers with open arms. "Our ensign has lost the flag!" The First Mate and Grenadier gasped at the news.

"But I didn't lose it; I never got one."

"How can we march into battle without a flag?" the General pleaded dramatically, one hand over his eye. "Oh, our battle is lost. . . ." The other soldiers stared disapprovingly at Gregory and sneered. Perhaps it was for the best, because the First Mate was finishing the last bites of his french bread weaponry anyway. "Adieu, mine adversary, adieu," the commander then said as he waved to the cattle with sad, drooping eyes. "It seems today we must settle our feud with a bovinic truce."

"Moo moo." replied a cow as its neighbor chewed on a wad of grass.

The General led Greg up to Wirt and once again patted the older brother on the back. "You would do well, young ensign, to be a bit more like our eagle-eyed Lieutenant here. He's gonna make Captain some day!"

"Me?" asked Wirt.

"I'll do better next time, I promise." explained Greg. The younger brother then sulked away towards the mast and sat with his frog upon a crate. "Gee, Private Applesauce, I don't think I'm good at this. How come I don't want to hurt a cow? Does that make me a bad person?" The frog casually croaked at his question. "Okay!" he said cheerfully. "Next time I'll be a real mean guy to our enemies. I don't want to let anybody down."

* * *

><p>"Hey General!" yelled Beatrice. "We're off course! Adelaide is that way!"<p>

"Of course we're of course." replied the commander as he frantically spun the ship's wheel. "We can't let them know we're coming, can we?"

"Who?"

The General dashed behind the mast and cautiously peered portside from behind it. "The enemies of the Commonwealth. They're lurking out there. . . lurking just beyond our vision."

"Ooooh. . . I get it now. You're an insane person."

The general smiled coyly "But aren't we all a little mad in times of war?" he asked as he casually scratched his hair with his wooden spoon.

Beatrice sulked and then fluttered away from the commander while muttering, "Dangit. This was a terrible mistake."

Meanwhile, Wirt was pondering this strange new world that was the Unknown. In some ways, the fields did look like a flowing ocean. For brief moments, he felt as though all the world made sense; even the preposterous situation in which he was right now.

"Wirt." said Beatrice, perched beside him. "Wirt, I don't know if you can hear me right now, but if you can-"

"Huh? Sorry, Beatrice. I'm trying to look out for enemies and stuff."

"Attaboy, Captain Wirt!" said the General, holding out a thumbs up. "You're gonna make Major in no time!"

"Listen Wirt," added Beatrice, desperately competing for his attention, "this is a disaster. We need to-"

The bluebird was interrupted when the ship came to a literal crashing halt. An ear-piercing crack was heard when the bicrone ran aground into a large apple tree. All aboard, save for Beatrice, were thrown to their hands and knees. The impact shook several apples look from its boughs and one landed square on the General's forehead. It disoriented him, and through blurred vision he shouted, "Incoming enemy rounds! War! War!"

A quick study of their surroundings revealed that their ship had crashed into an entire grove of apple trees, like an island of wood within the sea of grass. There were trees to all sides but the ship's stern, the direction from which they came. "We're surrounded!" the Grenadier cried.

"Battle formations, men!" instructed the General, his spoon raise high. "What they have in numbers, we have in heart!" The soldiers stood in line in front of their commander and proudly saluted, except the Cabin Boy who garbled as he played with his toy boat and a rattle. Beatrice could only roll her eyes and groan at the display.

The wave of pride washed over Greg too at that moment. Patriotism for the Commonwealth welled within him and he smiled as an idea entered his mind. This was his moment. This was his chance to be a real mean guy to his enemies. This time he wouldn't let anybody down.

Greg smirked as he reached down to pick up one of the fallen apples. With all his strength he chucked the fruit at the trunk of the nearest tree where it spattered into dozens of juicy bits. The plan backfired, and this only served to shake the biggest rain of apples yet onto the ship and her crew. Wirt, the First Mate, and even Beatrice fell victim to the bulky, red assault. Everyone let out moans and yelps when they failed to shield themselves from the falling fruit.

"Retreat!" commanded the General. "Their might is too mighty! Away, boys!" With great skill the soldiers reversed their vessel and returned to the safety of the open grass. The General incredulously interrogated Greg afterward.

"What were you thinking, young ensign? I never ordered you to fire!"

"But I thought. . ."

"Look at the Major here." he said, gesturing to Wirt. "Did you see him fire? He only follows orders, like a good soldier. _He's_ bound to make Colonel someday."

"Sorry, General." replied Greg dolefully. The younger brother once more found himself retreating with his tail between his legs to seek the comforting companionship of his frog. "Well Johnny ol' boy. . . I just can't seem to do the right thing. At this rate we're never gonna find a good enemy to battle with." The frog croaked.

"Me?" Greg asked, his fingertips defensively placed on his chest. "I'm not an enemy of the Commonwealth!" The frog lifted his military cap and shot Greg a leer from a single, bulging eye, a doubting look on his large lips. Greg's eyes went wide and he grew breathless. He stared blankly to the horizon and felt his heart skip a beat, as if it was being squeezed by a terrible truth.

"Am I?" he asked coldly.

* * *

><p>Wirt rested his arms and chin upon the side of the bicrone ship, staring at the blinding setting sun and reflecting how he had risen through the ranks with little effort and proven his loyalty to the Commonwealth time and time again. But even so, in the quiet moments, his thoughts returned to her. Somehow, worlds away, Sara still haunted him. If she could only now see how far Wirt had come, then perhaps the regretful deeds of his past could be forgotten. In a way, that was a different Wirt than the person he was now. He wished Sara could know him now, rather than that different, clumsy, mistake-ridden Wirt of the past.<p>

"Wirt, can you believe this?" groaned Beatrice, completely unaware, and uncaring, of his inner turmoil. "These guys have no idea what they're doing! Just look at 'em."

Currently, the First Mate had a rope wrapped around one ankle, dangling inches above the deck. The Grenadier tried this best to aid his comrade, but a gust of wind forced the fat soldier into him, knocking him onto his his barreled backside.

"Time to take things into my own hands, I guess." she spat, standing at the edge of the ship's hold and peering down. "Wirt!" she shrieked.

"Ack! What!"

How she dragged it out from the hold one can only wonder, but the bluebird now stood atop a barrel of gunpowder and had a match gripped in one foot. "I got a barrel of explosives. Ready to blow this hat sky high?"

"Huh? No! That'll blow us up!"

"Oh, it's okay." she said dismissively, rolling her eyes. "I can fly. I'll be safe."

For the first time all day, Wirt seemed to care about the situation at hand. Defiantly placing his hands on this hips, he said, "I think I may have to report you to the General."

"Fine, Fine." conceded Beatrice. "We'll just commandeer it."

"I'm not gonna hijack stuff. I'm not a hijacker."

Beatrice dropped the match and hovered close to Wirt's face. "These people are trying to start a war, Wirt! Let's take the peaceful path huh? Won't you join me on the road to peace?" she said in the same majestic tone she used when first talking about Adelaide.

Wirt could only smear his palm down the length of his face. "Two seconds ago you were plotting to blow this place up!"

Beatrice was quick to drop the serene act. "Just follow my every command without question," she screamed, "or I'm ditching you and your brother."

"You can't ditch us." the teen replied angrily, pointing a finger at the bluebird. "You're honor-bound to help us get home."

"This wouldn't be the first time I've been dishonorable!"

An inexplicable chill suddenly coursed through Wirt's entire nervous system, so much so that he felt compelled to wrap his cloak a little tighter around his arms. Ever since he met her, Wirt only thought of Beatrice as a talking, albeit obnoxious, bluebird. This little argument made him realize that she was so much more than that; This was a creature with a storied past. As Beatrice glared scornfully at Wirt, he suddenly knew that she could be very dangerous if provoked, and now was not a good time to cross her – not now, and perhaps not ever.

Wirt would cave this time, learning onto the barrel next to the bluebird. "Okay, so what do you need me to do?"

* * *

><p>The plan seemed simple enough. Using his new-found rank, Beatrice had Wirt relieve the other soldiers of duty for the evening. The soldiers shuffled into their hammocks, or crib in the case of the Cabin Boy, and respectful salutes were shared by all before Wirt climbed back above deck. Now Wirt could take charge of the ship's direction.<p>

Wirt uneasily gripped at the ship's wheel. "What direction are we supposed to go again?"

"East." replied the bluebird, hovering beside him.

"So. . ."

"Towards the moon, Wirt." she said tiredly.

"Oh, okay." With that, Wirt steered the bicrone ship towards the half-moon. The satellite was just beginning its ascent into the sky, climbing into the night's first purple hues which clashed against the orange glow of the setting sun – a battle the night would ultimately win. "Hey Beatrice. . . I have a question." he added after a moment's pause.

"What's that?"

Well. . . I was just wondering. Do you think girls like poetry?"

"Nobody likes poetry."

Wirt furrowed his brow and pursed his lips at her response. He then meekly said, "Some people do."

"Yeah, but nobody likes those people."

"Oh."

Beatrice dropped and perched atop a spoke of the wheel. "Are you going to ask me questions like that all the way to Adelaide?"

"I'm just trying to start conversation." he said with a shrug.

Beatrice began to flap away. "You're just like your brother."

This seemed to insult Wirt. "Greg? No I'm not! Greg gets into all sorts of trouble all the time. I'm the complete opposite of Greg. I want to avoid conflict as best I can. That's my thing. I just want to stay out of other people's lives."

"So you just want to float through life without affecting anyone else? Like a ghost. . . completely unknown and forgotten by anyone who's ever met you?"

"Well. . ." choked Wirt, crossing his arms and refusing to make eye contact with the bird, "It doesn't sound great when you say it like that. But. . ."

"No, no, that's great. . ." Beatrice said in a toying manner, "That's why you're _perfect_ for this."

"Perfect for what?"

The bluebird fluttered down to the edge of the hold. "Perfect for. . . uh. . . for staying up all night to steer the boat. I'm gonna hit the hay."

"But I don't wanna stay awake all night!" whined Wirt.

"Me neither! Goodnight." Beatrice then disappeared into the ship.

"Wait!" Wirt cried, forcing Beatrice to pop her head out again. "Which way is east again?"

"The moon. Just keep going that way. And don't get distracted and drift off course." Beatrice sank into the cabin once more, this time truly for the last time tonight.

Wirt sank his head into his hand and leaned upon the wheel. "Yeah, alright. . . ."

The sun set as Wirt and Beatrice talked, and night had completely fallen by the time Wirt was alone on deck. It was a beautiful night. The breeze was refreshing and there were few clouds to cover the brilliant, star-filled sky. Wirt stared up at the myriad points of light. There were so many more stars to see here in the Unknown compared to the light-polluted sky back home. Not wanting to upset Beatrice, Wirt always kept his eye on the moon throughout the night, steering the ship in its direction. He wondered if Sara was looking up to that same moon right now. Even if she was, she certainly wasn't thinking of him. He let go of that uncomfortable thought and just let his mind wander to whichever way it may.

_Okay, so nobody likes poetry. _He thought. _But do they not like the sun? The moon? Do they not like the sound of crickets? The smile of an old friend? The scent of a peach? I ask you. . . what is the world if not poetry?_

_ The stars, but shattered glass against a shrouded sky. The sea-sick fields ever waving goodbye. A misplaced soul sailing parts unknown with the hope, and the dread, of returning home._

_ A tragic poem, the world is. But somehow. . . every morning. . . _

_ A sunrise._

And rise it did. Now it was the moon to be chased away from the sky. The white half-orb began to tuck itself away into the horizon, and the familiar blue sky banished the stars. Today was a new day, one filled with hope that Beatrice's plan worked and they were now much closer to meeting Adelaide.

_I'm sure glad nobody can read what I'm thinking. This poetry is awful._ Wirt finally mused to himself.

Before the moon had totally set, a curious object loomed between the moon and the ship. It grew closer at a fair clip, and it wasn't long before Wirt saw it was another strange vessel sailing upon the sea of grass. This one was not a hat, but rather a giant wooden washtub, complete with a massive washboard and a tall mast full of white sails.

Wirt was unsure what to do. He didn't want to move off-course and anger Beatrice. He leaned over the hatch tot he hold, uneasily shifting his gaze between the sleeping soldiers below and the fast-approaching intruder vessel. "Uh, guys. . ." he moaned softly into the hold. Nobody would respond.

He sprung back to the wheel and gripped at it with trembling hands and a quivering lip. He did his best to reassure himself to stay strong and keep and even keel. _Beatrice's orders were clear. Don't go off course._ _It's always worked out before. . . just gotta keep doing what she-_

And that's when the bicrone crashed into the enemy washtub. The head-on collision was far more violent than the one into the apple tree the previous day. The nose of the ship buckled and splintered. The black fabric of the exterior punctured and tore. The mast split in two like a dry twig. In one single instant the ship was in ruins.

Beatrice shot out from the hold. "Wirt, why did you just crash the hat?" she demanded angrily.

The side of Wirt's head had smacked into the wheel upon impact, and he was rubbing at his temple. "You said to keep going straight. . ."

"Oh Wirt, sometimes you have to use common sense!"

The bicrone was beginning to sink into the grassland. The soldiers scurried out from the hold in panic.

"What ho?" cried the General, looking upon the washtub. "The enemy! This means war. This means war!"

That was the cue for the enemy to reveal himself. Greg and the frog popped up from the edge of the washtub. He now wore a crimson overcoat with crossed gray sashes. Both he and the frog donned bicrone caps of their own now, each topped with an elegant rad feather. Greg held up his flag of battle, an old sock safety-pinned to a pencil and loudly declared, "Yes it is I, the enemy of you guys! Hahahaha!"

More than half of the soldiers ship was now swallowed by the grass sea. Wirt climbed to the apex of the sinking remains while the soldiers were flailing their limbs while kneeling in the waist-high grass.

"The day is lost!" moaned the General. "Another brave crew claimed by the grass!"

"No, General!" protested the First Mate, "We can win this thing!"

The Grenadier yanked at a tuft of grass and threw it at the washtub. "For the Commonwealth I throw this grass at you!"

Beatrice gripped at the last remnants of the sinking hat and gazed at the pathetic theatrics of it all. "Full grown men. These are _full grown_ men." she stated in disbelief.

"Take this shirt! And those pantaloons." shouted Greg as he tossed the washtub's laundry into the soldiers. He didn't notice the Cabin Boy climb up the rear of his vessel, rattle in-hand. The infant shook the rattle at Greg and giggled.

"Oh no!" cried Greg.

"He's been got!" said the General.

"Victory is ours!" the First Mate called, joyously waving his shako in the air.

Greg dropped his sock flog overboard and held his arms up to the baby. "I give up! I surrender!"

The soldiers were the most happy they had been since meeting Wirt's party. They enthusiastically pumped their arms at each other.

"The battle is won!" exclaimed the General.

"And the battle was fun!" the First Mate added.

"And... and the battle is over."

"Yes." agreed the Grenadier. "A fine battle!"

"And a fine example of a soldier you are, enemy" the smiling General said, gesturing up to Gregory. Greg smiled widely upon receiving the General's high praise. "But," he began to add in a grim tone, "for your crimes against the Commonwealth, we must banish you."

The young brother merely smiled and waved. "Okay. Goodbye."

"And as for you, Colonel. . ." said the General, pointing threateningly to Wirt. The teen slumped his shoulders, certain he was in trouble for sinking the boat. Instead, the General wrapped his arm around Wirt. "By Jove it is time we promote you to General!"

"But General," protested the First Mate, "You're the General, General!"

"So I am! Why, this officer is trying to undercut my authority! DISCHARGED! You and your pet are DISCHARGED!

"Pet?" scoffed Beatrice.

* * *

><p>The soldiers claimed the washtub as their new vessel. The all climbed on with great zeal, invigorated by their glorious victory, and eager to find further triumph. Wirt, Greg, Beatrice, and the frog stood in the grass together and watched the happy group sail back into the vast fields of the Unknown. The soldiers parted the group by singing a new rendition of their song.<p>

_Four wayward soldiers, proud of victory._

_The first was the General; the second was me!_

_The third was the Grenadier; the fourth was less than large._

_And all went sailing in a washtub barge!_

Beatrice sighed from atop Wirt's hat, her annoyance nearly tangible. "Well, at least after all that we should be a lot closer to Adelaide. Now let me get my bearings here."

"Hey, look it's that thing!" Greg exclaimed, pointing to the very same wooden turbine where they met the soldiers the previous day. "Didn't we see that thing yesterday?"

"Ah! Wirt turned us around and brought us all the way back to where we started yesterday! Ugh!"

"I just followed your directions. I followed the moon all night!"

"Wirt!" she squawked as they began to trod back into the forest. "The moon moves! It moves from east to west in the sky, you bum! How could you not know you were changing direction when you. . . ugh, just. . . walk. It's fine! Just walk."

Wirt wasn't appreciating the constant belittlement he was receiving from the aggravating little bluebird. He was so annoyed that he didn't notice as his shoelaces began to unravel. "You're the one who told me to get on the boat in the first place."

"Yeah, I know, I know. You're right. I forget you have no free will or active brain function."

"Hey Guys!" interjected Greg. "You know what I think we need? I think we need a song to sing as we travel."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "That is exactly what we do not need!"

Her rejection would fall on deaf ears. Greg was too inspired by his adventure with the soldiers. Just as there was a song in their hearts as they sailed, Greg too would make one of his own to share with his friends – their new anthem as they traveled the woods. "Ooooooh!"

_We're going to the pasture _

_to meet Adelaide and ask her_

_if she has a way to send us back where we came from. . . ._


End file.
